


The Kirkmall

by kirkmall



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Choose Your Own Adventure, F/F, F/M, Shopping Malls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:01:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 109,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8846122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirkmall/pseuds/kirkmall
Summary: Kirkmall is an ongoing choose your own adventure/otome style story set in a (somewhat silly) modern Dragon Age universe.  Every update is voted on over at the Kirkmall Tumblr.
Our current story involves mysterious rebel artists, kittens, subterfuge and fake husbands, helping hopeless gift givers, one night stands, hardcore adulting, and iguanas wearing hats.  Among many other things.
Welcome to the Kirkmall.





	1. Sunday, 27th of Harvestmere

 

 

 

Well.

Here you are.

 

A sign hangs over your head as the thick double doors slide open, momentarily silencing the noise of the parking lot.  Chlorine and fresh air, the scent of the fountain washes over you, the scream of distant children reverberating.  It brushes aside the rough weather outside, a perfect moment caged in by glass and metal, and the bright lights of signs hanging over each shop.

Welcome to the Kirkmall.

As you walk in, a tri-sided sign grees you.  Electronics, shoes, and a new movie.  The Last Blight, black, brilliant white, and bloody red.  Those sorts of movies are popular, a third of the video games and costumes are darkspawn this year.  You’re sort of feeling over it.  Still, the arrow points somewhere to the left, away from the scents of food.  If you wanted to see a film, that would be the place.

The air smells like grease, sugar, the aforementioned chemicals, and the miasma of a great many people packed into a small space.  The floor is a crisp white tile, and to your left is a cell phone shop, with brilliant scarlet and white lights.  Templar Wireless.  To your right is a shoe store, Mabari Sport.  Ahead, an intersection beckons with light and noise.  Will you continue on, or duck into a shop?

Your cellphone has no messages, and the clock reads 15:27.  The next movie is at 17:00.

What will we do?

 

* * *

 

A bright red polo shirt briefly pulls your gaze aside to the Templar Wireless as you head up the crisply-tiled corridor. The shop is always busy, but from what you can tell that’s just because they trap people there and make them take forever to upgrade a phone.  Still, your eyes briefly meet a very nice pair of deep brown ones in passing, a contact that holds for a couple seconds longer than strictly polite.  It’s just a second, tense but pleasant, but you realize you’re staring when he gives you a smile, broad and puzzled.  Right.  Maybe time to be moving on.

Your phone’s fine, and eventually, regretfully you drag your gaze away from the den of overpriced electronics.  The intersection ahead beckons, some sort of advertisement playing on another of the three-sided signs, blaring over the noise of crowd and chaos.  

It draws you in, flickering and beckoning, and you don’t realize you’ve wandered to the edge of the corridor until your’re abruptly pushed off balance.  You’ve crossed into the shoe store, and directly into the path of someone working there.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry!”

The exclamation comes as you’re already knocked to the side, You stagger a couple steps, and then a hand tucked into your elbow keeps you from falling.  Apologies trip more than feet, your balance regained by the solicitous hands, a gaze earnest and awkward fixed on you as you struggle to your feet.

“I’m sorry.”  He repeats as you straighten up, pulling his hands back with reflexive quickness.  “You’re all right?”

“I’m all right.”  You agree, finding your footing and setting yourself to rights.

A glance downwards from the worried smile and tousled hair finds a name, emblazoned across a pinned square of plastic.

_‘Alistair’_

“My…ability to make women swoon remains unparalleled.”  He jokes weakly, as you tug your jacket straight, and glance up the hallway.  “Falling for me, all over the…”

The stack of boxes you had nearly fallen into abruptly collapses with a clatter, sending shoes all over the floor.  Alistair startles, cheeks flushing as the chaos washes over both of you, and then abruptly rakes a hand over his hair.

A pair of soccer cleats tumble to the floor, as you stare at each other.

“All right, well, maybe it’s not…quite that easy.”  He admits awkwardly, and then noisily clears his throat.  “Sorry.  I should…clean this up.”

Still feeling the impression of his fingers on your elbow, you watch as he turns away, grabbing a pair of fallen shoes from the floor.  It’s a big mess, all said and done, an entire display at the entrance of Mabari Sport fallen.  You could stop and help him clean it all up, or you could move on.

As you consider it, your cell phone vibrates with a text message.  Sera's wondering where you are.  She's hungry.

 

Should we stop and clean up our mess, or go and meet our friend?  Or…something else entirely?

 

* * *

 

Ignoring the text messages from Sera, you turn back to the mess in front of the shoe store. She can wait a minute for once, it’s not like the food court is going anywhere.  Alistair is still kneeling to the ground, mumbling animatedly, with the occasional gesture or grimace.  Is he…arguing with himself?

“I’ll help.  It’s partly my fault.”  You offer, and he looks up, eyes widening for a moment.

“I…didn’t expect you to…hang around.”  He admits, and then lifts his shoulders and turns back, voice turning playful.  “Well, as long as you don’t expect me to pay you.  They barely pay _me_.”

“It’s okay.”  You say, and turn to crouch down and grab a stack of fallen boxes and tangled tennis shoes.

You can feel him watching you for a few seconds, a glance aside meeting his brown eyes.  He laughs with embarrassment, and turns back to work, clearing his throat roughly afterwards.

For a minute you both just work, tossing shoes back into boxes, and stacking them up on the table again.  The ‘SALE’ sign is stuck to the bottom of his shoe now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Do…you work here?  I could swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.” He muses, and then hastens to add before you can reply, “Maker, that wasn’t a line, I was just trying to…I really could swear you seem familiar.”

* * *

 

 

**You must have seen me in your dreams.**

 

“I…ah..ha ha…”  Alistair stammers, cheeks reddening as his eyes rapidly avert from you.  He clears his throat again, nervously, picking up a pair of tennis shoes.  “Right, I deserved that.”

“I work over at the book store.  Well, books and movies.”  You tell him at last, taking pity as you pick up an armload of re-filled boxes and move to stack them up.

“The…one with the coffee shop?”  He asks, and tries again when you shake your head, “No?  Then the second-hand one around the corner?”

You shake your head again, hiding a grin as you wait for him to get it.  He just looks puzzled, staring up at you with his head tilted to the side.

“Desire’s Dungeon.”  You finally tell him, taking pity on him.  “Novelty…books and movies.”

“Novelty…ri~ght.”  He finally says, and you have the feeling he still isn’t quite getting it.  When it hits home, you see it, his eyes narrow, and then widen as he turns red again.  “The…oh!  I thought you meant the…ah…comic shop.”

“We have comics.”  You tell him, and this time you can’t hide your grin at how easily he gets flustered.  “They’re just _dirty_ comics.  It looks like we’re done, though, so…”

“Right.  Thank you.”  He says, blinking and rising to his feet with a nod, regaining some composure.  “I…appreciate the help.”

“No problem.  I’m late for lunch, so I should be…going.”  You tell him, taking a step back.  

“Going.  Yes.  And I should be…working, probably.”  Alistair says, and then adds dryly, “That’s what they barely pay me for, after all.”

 

* * *

 

**Say goodbye and go shopping.  Sera’s never on time anyways.**

 

Leaving Alistair behind with a brief farewell, you head up the wide corridor between the shops, letting yourself fall into the flow of traffic.  The chemical-purified scent of water hits your nose again, chasing off smells of food and a hundred different perfumes coming from the bath and skin care shop nearby.  

The fountain itself is a big, square tiled thing with seating all around it, roaring as noisily as the chatter and hum of conversations.  To your left and right the corridor continues, around a few smaller carts that take up space between the bigger shops.  

Right heads down to one of the big anchor department stores, past a children’s shop, the ubiquitous cheap teenage jewelry store, and a clothing store that spills cologne and the thud of bass into the thoroughfare.  Left is a bit longer of a trek, and eventually there’s a turn off to the food court, and an escalator heading up.  

From above, just faintly threading through the noise, you can hear the delicate sound of a piano on the second floor.

_Holiday music._

_“Oh come on,”_ you think, _“it is way too early for that.”  
_

The most instantly noticeable shops to your left are an Antivan Exports, purveyors over overpriced kitsch, a smaller storefront with a weathered copper sign that reads ‘ _Antediluvia_ ’(no idea what that one is, and the front window gives you no clue), and of course…Red Jenny’s.  If you need a (totally not for elfroot) pipe that looks like a dildo, a stupid bachelorette party gift, or a pre-distressed t-shirt for a band that was popular before you were born, that’s the place to go.  Other than that, just some clothing stores, a fancy jewelry shop, and the kiosks.  The closest one of those seems to be selling sunglasses.

 

* * *

 

**Let's go into Antivan Exports**

 

Antivan Exports is always good for a look-around.  You never know what you’re going to find in that place, but they always have huge baskets of those bath oil bead things and fancy scarves that aren’t too expensive.  The instant you walk in you’re surrounded by the scents of dusty eucalyptus, incense, and lacquer; and not for the first time today, you are confronted by a display of shoes.

These are fancy, not the running shoes over at Mabari.  Brocade slippers with intricate beading, they have soles too thin to actually wear anywhere out.  They’re sparkly, though, and not tacky at all.

“Aren’t they adorable?”  A voice asks you from your left, light and feminine with a soft Orlesian accent.

You turn to face a rather sweetly pleasant smile, a woman with short red hair and vibrantly blue eyes gazing at you.  Her expression is friendly and open, and thoroughly engaged.  You have a feeling she makes a lot of sales for the place.

“The beading is nice.  I’d ruin them pretty quickly, though.” You admit, reaching for a gold pair and turning them over to check the price.  Thirty bucks?

You set them back down.  For now at least.

“They are house slippers, but I agree, very impractical.”  The woman says with unflagging cheer, sweeping past you to wander towards the circular counter in the middle of the store.  "Sometimes you just want to put on something pretty around the house, don’t you think?  Just to make a day a bit more special.“

You catch a flash of her name tag as she slips around you.   _Leliana._

“When sitting in your hanging egg chair?”  You joke, giving the odd piece of wicker furniture a little shove as you walk past it, chains creaking.  It looks cool, but like a death trap waiting to happen.

“They are surprisingly comfortable!”  Leliana says with a delicate laugh, “But you should probably avoid them after a glass or two of wine.  It is a good way to end up face-first on the floor.  Not that I would know, of course.”

She offers you a smile with a coquettishly playful tilt of her head, and then politely turns her attention away when you wander off to browse.  

There the scarves are, a big rack of them in a rainbow of jewel tones and metallics off to your left.  You wander over and pick one up, letting it slide through your fingers. You can still see Leliana through a display of glass wind chimes, but her attention is turned towards the entrance.

“What is this about drinking wine and falling over?  Something I should have been invited to, yes?” A voice asks from the front of the store, roguishly amused and thickly accented.

“Oh, Zevran.” Leliana sighs amusedly, leaning over the counter as an elven man in a pair of oversized sunglasses wanders up to it, “Since when have you ever waited to be invited?”

“I come here, to bring you a gift,”  Zevran says, shaking his head slowly as he scans the store, “and you mock me.  My poor, shattered heart.”

“I think that your heart will be fine.”  Leliana replies tartly, smile still fixed as she glances down to his hands.  "What have you brought me?“

“You wound me, and still expect a gift?  Leli _ana_.”  Zevran sighs, and you’re caught watching as he glances your way.  The sunglasses are in the way, but the grin he gives you is unmistakable.  "Excuse my unpardonable rudeness,“  He calls, a hand over his heart, "would your shoulder happen to be available for crying upon?  I am very…very sad.”

“Please do not flirt with my customers, Zevran.”  Leliana chides with an apologetic smile your way, reaching out both hands and taking a tiny box he offers to her.  Her attention quickly turns back to it, smile brightening. “Oh!  You were working at Josephine’s!  Thank you!”

The small box is glossy white, and when she sets it down on the counter, you can see it’s emblazoned with ’ _Montilyet’s_ ’ in a graceful, metallic gold script.

You’re trying not to spy, but it’s hard not to when they’re talking to, and about you.  Your attention is pulled away yet again from the scarves, another peek up meeting a gaze fixed directly on you. Zevran flashes you a wink and a devilish smile, and then slides the sunglasses back up his nose in a smooth, slow motion.

 

* * *

 

 

**Flirting with a stranger while giving another girl a present?  You’re brave.**

 

 

“Brave.  Do you think so?”  Zevran muses, turning away from Leliana to face you.  “I am only trying to…spread the love, as they say.  If I have offended you, I apologize.”

Leliana is busily opening the box, which you now realize has chocolates in it.  Just four of them, little bite-sized sweets with various embellishments.  Zevran subtly reaches for one, and she swats his hand away.

“I’m not offended.”  You say, watching them play slap fight with each other for a couple seconds until he finally manages to swipe one from under her hand.  “I just think it’s…”

You stop short as the chocolate is offered to you with a flourish, balanced on the palm of his hand.  A glance aside at Leliana shows that she doesn’t look annoyed, just giving you a quick smile and selecting a different one for herself.

“Impressive?”  Zevran suggests, with another wicked smile and an arch of an eyebrow.  “I would be modest, but…ah, modesty, sadly, is not one of my vices.”

 

* * *

 

**Just what are your vices, then?**

 

“Ah, well…”  Zevran laughs as you take the chocolate from his palm with two fingers, “A beautiful woman flirting with me is fairly high on that list.  And then of course there are the…other vices that such beauty inspires.”

“It is a very long list,”  Leliana interjects playfully, smile still as warm as ever, “but I am trying to work, you know.  That recitation could take all night.”

“And I, alas, should be going to work as well.”  Zevran declares to both of you, with a long sigh as he lifts his wrist and checks his watch. “Two hours to freedom, yes?  Not that there is much excitement on a Sunday night.”

“You will tell Josephine thank you for me, won’t you?”  Leliana asks, and then nods and selects another chocolate as he inclines his head.  “Thank you, Zevran.  I shall see you in the morning?”

“Yes, I will be outside your door bright and early.  The new employee…he did not make the cut.”  Zevran says, gesturing at the sunglasses kiosk just outside of the shop, on the main thoroughfare.  “I believe the coffee…is on you.”

“Good night.”  Leliana says with a nod, and then turns away to deal with an approaching customer.

“And good night to you.  An exquisite pleasure to make your acquaintance.”  Zevran tells you, hand on his heart as he nods his head, and then turns away.

 

* * *

 

**Let him go, play it cool.  You know where he works now.**

 

 

No need to chase after Zevran, you decide.  You (maybe) know where he works now, if you feel like looking him up again.  Which you probably will, he seems like a lot of fun, but you don’t want to come on too strong.  If there is such a thing as too strong with him.  You browse a little longer, and idly chat with Leliana, but the day’s getting late, and your cell phone is now full of angry texts.

Angry, cussy texts.

Giving in at last, you head out with a friendly goodbye and make your way into the wide, white tiled corridor.  Red Jenny’s isn’t too far away, its glaringly crimson sign looking like it was spray painted on.  Curiously, you peek into that weird shop Antediluvia as you pass it by, the pale golden-lit interior full of what seems to be locked display cases and book shelves.  There’s actually a big leather upholstered armchair behind the counter, even.

Weird.  It doesn’t _seem_ like a book store.

There’s a thin guy standing stock-still behind the counter in the back, hair hanging in his face.  Kind of spooky.  As if he can tell you’ve looked his way, he abruptly lifts his head and meets your eyes, lifting a hand in greeting.  Awkwardly returning the gesture, you continue on your way.

When you poke your head into Jenny’s at last, you are greeted by an argument that seems like it’s been going on for a while.  Sera is complaining at the top of her lungs, gesturing wildly while the other person standing behind the counter is rolling his eyes and leafing through a catalog.

You watch her yell at him for a few seconds about some sort of scheduling conflict, hard to tell between all of the swearing, until she finally notices you’re standing there.

“You.”  She accuses, pointing a finger in your direction, “You are friggin’ late!”

“I got distracted.”  You say, glancing sidelong at the elven guy behind the counter.  He briefly looks up at you, one eye peering through his tumbled white hair, and then sighs heavily and turns back to the catalog.

You wonder if he bleaches it.  He must, his eyebrows are darker.

“Get her out of here, please.”  He demands, gravelly voice dripping with weary annoyance.

“C’mon, let’s _go_.”  Sera declares, ducking around the counter and tucking her thin arm in yours, “Fenris I’m takin’ fourty five, cos’ I’m starvin’.”

“I genuinely do not care.”  Fenris replies, giving a faint snort when Sera flips him the vee.

You let yourself be dragged out of the shop by the arm, by really your only friend you’ve made in this city so far.  There hasn’t been time to get out and meet people, not really, but it seems like that might be starting to change.

Sera’s dragging you along, but she still looks annoyed with you.

 

* * *

 

 

**Aw, don’t be mad.  Dinner’s on me, okay?**

“Good.  Better be.”  Sera says, continuing past the food court as you make your promise.

You’re not sure why at first, the mall’s huge and you’re still not used to it, but the further you go, the more clear it becomes just where she’s taking you.

“Oh no.  Not again.”

“Yes again, this place is great!”  Sera says with a grin, grabbing your arm again as you escape her.

With a sigh, you let yourself be dragged down and around a corner, heading for a looming storefront with a glaringly candy-colored neon sign.  Balloons cluster around the entrance, and past it is a tiled corridor plastered with flyers, leading to a front desk.

_Freddy Fennic’s Funtime Pizza Arcade_.

She’s brought you here a few times now in the past less than a month you’ve been living here, and you’re starting to think she only does so she can destroy you at video games.  Since you’re not here for a ‘Funtime Birthday Experience’, the bored girl at the counter waves you through, and you head out into the arcade.  Flashing lights and a hundred electronic noises, bursts of music and violence assault your senses as you wander through, the prize counter reigning from the back wall, festooned with stuffed animals and toys.

The Fennic himself is nowhere to be seen, but Honey Halla is being assaulted by a group of little kids over by the skeeball.  Somehow the person in the oversized mascot costume manages to pick you two out, and she waves a mitt over at you.  Sera returns the gesture, you a little less certainly.

“Is that Bethany?”  You ask her, and she lifts her shoulders in a shrug.

“Prob'ly.  C'mon, friggin’ starvin’.”  She demands, and you follow her past the arcade into the dining room.

Oh no.   _More_ holiday music. This time in high-pitched squeaky cartoon voices.

As if you needed another reminder that it’s almost Satinalia and you have exactly one (one and a half if you count Bethany- but you think she’s just that nice to everyone) friend in this whole entire city.  If you’re lucky, Sera will drag you to a party.  She’s a tornado, but a nice one.

You settle into a booth with plasticky vinyl cushions, the kind that’ll cling to any exposed skin until you manage to peel yourself away.  Easy to clean up, but gross.

“Oh look, it’s you two again.” A voice says from behind you, vaguely annoyed.

You turn to watch as Carver Hawke wanders over to the table, pulling a small menu out of the pocket of his apron and throwing it at the table towards Sera. His blue eyes are irritably tired, but you don’t think you’ve seen him crack a real smile yet.  You also don’t know if he hates you or not- maybe complaining is just how he enjoys himself or something.

“It’s my birthday.”  Sera says with a smirk, dragging your attention away from contemplating his frown.

“It’s not your birthday,” Carver says, sharply, “and it wasn’t your birthday last week, either.”

“Gimmie the birthday song!” Sera demands, cackling gleefully at the dead-eyed look Carver gives her.  "Don’t make me call your manager, yeah?  Sing for me already!“

Carver stares her down for maybe ten seconds, until Sera gives in and starts cackling, slapping her hands down on the table.  He sighs, and offers you a menu as well, a little bit more politely than the one he flung at Sera.

“I hate you so much.  Do you want a pizza or not?”

“Yes, please.  Sera gets to order, because I was late.”  You say quickly, and then immediately regret it as she grins ferally at you.  "As long as it’s not hot peppers again.“

“I’ll take pity cos’ you’re payin’.”  Sera tells you, and then turns to Carver, thumping an elbow on the table.  "Give us a big one, half peppers an’ sausage, an’ I need a soda.“

“Well, I guess that’ll be my lunch for a while.”  You say, not too grudgingly.  Their larges are _large._  You did say you’d pay, though.  "I’ll get the same as last time, so…“

“Uh huh.”  Carver interrupts, writing it down without you needing to specify.  "Got it.“

He remembers?  Well, that’s a surprise.

 

* * *

 

**It’s my birthday today.  Where’s my song?**

 

“I thought you were the nice one.”  Carver says, sighing as Sera starts snickering again.  “I’m not singing the stupid song!”

“Oh come on.”  You cajole teasingly, and he grumbles and swipes the menu out of your hands to turn and stalk off.  “I swear, it’s really my birthday, Carver!  Where’s my happy birthday song?”

He turns to glare at you as he walks backwards through the swinging door into the kitchen, and you flash him your most winning smile.  Doesn’t look like it worked, though.  

“I think he’s mad at me.”  You confess to Sera, who’s pulled out her cellphone to type away.  “It was just a joke!”

“Carver thinks everyone’s pickin’ on’im.”  Sera replies distractedly, typing for a few more seconds before glancing up.  “You got Saturday night off, yeah?”

“Yes, I work in the afternoon.”

“Good, there’s a thing.  You wanna come or what?”

“A…thing?”  You ask, curiously, “What sort of thing?”

“Just a party thing.  You know.  Noise, maybe a fight or somethin’.  People bein’ stupid.”  Sera says with a grin.  “Ain’t much fun unless there’s somethin’ to regret, right?”

 

* * *

 

**Sure, it’s a date.**

 

“A…”  Sera starts, trailing off for a moment and then continuing with a bluster, “Ha ha, real funny.  Anyways, it’ll be a good time.”

You notice she’s speaking a little faster than usual, and it takes you a second to catch up, as she wanders off into describing what sort of ‘mess’ they got into last time.  She’s still chattering away when Carver stops to drop off the drinks, but by the time the pizza comes, she’s starting to run out of steam.

“That…is disgustin’.”  She informs you, as the pizza is laid out.  “It’s all vegetables.”

“And fruit.”  You remind her, tearing off a slice of the vegetable and pineapple pizza you prefer.  “You had onions and peppers yesterday at lunch.”

“Yeah, on a friggin’ steak sandwich.”  She says, and then tears off a giant bite and keeps talking, “Anyways, everybody’s goin’ be there on Saturday.  Even th’Big Hawke.  You met them?”

“Sera, I haven’t met barely anyone.”  You remind her, reaching for your soda.  “Before today, the only people I knew were my landlord, work people, and the people you introduced me to.”

“Before t’day?”  She asks, voice muffled by pizza.

“I was just talking to some people around the mall.”

“Like who?”  She asks, squinting one eye and reaching for her soda.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**We just waved, but that weird shop next to yours, the guy working there?  He seemed kinda…odd. What do they even sell?**

 

“Weird?”  Sera asks distractedly, but quickly corrects herself, nodding with a quick swing of her hair, “Right.  Ant-eluvians or whatever.”

“That’s the place.”  You agree, picking at the crust of your pizza, eyeing the rest of the pie.  Yeah, you can probably make your half stretch for a couple days.  Which is good, your car needs a _lot_ of work.  “I couldn’t tell what they sell.”

“Old shite.”  Sera says succinctly, and then grimaces, “They’re both weird.  Creepy, one of ‘em, though, looks at you.  That one’s Cole.  Don’t bother talkin’ to him, he’s a nutter.”

“Both?”  You ask, reaching for your drink.

“Yeah.  Guy that owns th’place is a _real_ wanker.  Don’t even bother.  Shame, some of the stuff is kinda…cool lookin’, but if he sees you lookin’, he’ll come over an’ start goin on an’ on.”  Sera says, lifting a hand and waggling her fingers against her thumb.  “Blah, blah, blah.”

“One of them looks at you, and one of them talks?”  You ask, trying not to grin as she rolls her eyes, “That’s your problem with them?”

“It’s friggin’ boring!  Oh, this is a million years old and they found in such and such with…ugh!  I’m gonna put myself t’sleep just thinkin’ about it!”

“Then you’ll be late getting back to work, better not do that.”  You say, reaching for your wallet to pull out your card.

“Ugh, yeah, better be gettin’ back.”  Sera agrees, and then gives a sigh through her nose, “Before Fenris starts bitchin’.”

“And I should be getting home.”  You agree with a sigh yourself, glancing at your phone.  “Almost seven, and I still have to take the bus.”

“Yep.”  Sera agrees, and then waves both arms at Carver across the dining room, “Oi!  You want a tip or not?”

 

* * *

 

**I can squeeze in a half hour before the bus comes.  Maybe walk around some more.**

 

You walk Sera back to Red Jenny, leftover pizza secured, but sadly with no bouncy balls in your pocket.  Well, there’s always next time.  Work is just across the road, after all, in a strip mall dwarfed by the massive beast that is the Kirkmall.  Close enough to pop over on your lunch break, provided the food court’s not too busy.  When you’re not long on time, though, the Hanged Man is in one of the satellite buildings at the edge of the parking lot- closer, if not much in the way of edible food.

French fries are a food group, right?

You say your goodbyes at the front of the shop, pausing to put a reminder in your phone about Saturday night, and then turn to head down the wide corridor again.  She has to close up shop.  Better not distract her.

It’s kind of funny, the guy behind the counter at Antediluvia is still standing exactly where you left him when you passed by earlier.  This time, you lift your hand first, and he returns the gesture, giving you a hint of a shy smile.

“It’s…Cole, right?”  You ask, taking a couple steps into the odd shop, “Sera next door is a friend of mine.” 

“Oh!  Yes.”  He replies, sounding simultaneously confused and delighted, “That is my name.  Hello.”

“Hi.”  You say, and you share a smile for a few seconds, before your attention is drawn to a nearby display case, curiosity overwhelming.

When Sera said ‘old stuff’, you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but this glass-topped case seems to hold jewelry.  Admittedly, kind of weird jewelry, pendants and beads and things that look ancient, but recently put-together.

“They call it reclaimed.”  Cole volunteers vaguely, and you startle when you glance up and realize he’s only a few feet away.

When did he move?

“Reclaimed?  You mean like…old things made new?”  You ask, looking back again, examining a silvery, mosaic inlaid pendant.  It’s beautiful, but looks heavy.

“Yes…and no.  Small things, forgotten things that would be thrown away, or put in a box somewhere.”  Cole tells you,  “There are people who take them, and take care of them.  They’re old…but new again.”

“And care is taken that they remain as unchanged as possible.”  Another voice interjects from across the shop, sonorous and richly-accented.  “Hence reclaimed, and not ‘refurbished’.  They are remnants of history, and are priced accordingly.”

The last two words are leaned on, pointedly. _Ouch._

You glance away from Cole to meet a pair of eyes, a tall elven man standing across the room with an open book in hand, just past the door that must lead into the back of the shop.  He meets your eyes for a second, and then inclines his head and turns to Cole.

“I would like to close up shop shortly.  Please see to your tasks as soon as you are able.”

You watch, a little bit confused, as he opens up the door and paces back through again, closing it firmly behind himself.  Okay, so…

You feel a little unwelcome all of a sudden.

 

* * *

 

**Tasks?  Is there anything I can help you with?**

_**** _

“You want to help?”  Cole asks you, sounding very surprised, “Thank you.”

“Sure, why not?  I want to look around a little, but I don’t want to be in your way.”  You say, glancing back towards the back room again, “It seems like I am.”

“No.  Why…?”  Cole asks, turning to wander back to the counter, “Oh, because Solas was angry.  He isn’t angry with you.”

You follow after him, inhaling the scent of old books.  Leather, the tiniest hints of mustiness and decay, old ink and paper.  It’s nice, and the dim lighting you thought was weird actually kind of works.  All the display cases have their own lights, after all.

The one you’re passing by now on the way to the counter holds tiny statuettes.  You recognize a few of them as being old Ferelden.  How?  Dogs, of course.

“He’s angry with someone, then?”  You ask, pausing when he does, and leaning in to read the list he’s picking up.

“Some people are very rude when they come in to shop.  It bothers him because he cares very much about the things, and other people do not.”  Cole says, setting the list down and stepping around the counter, “It makes him happy when people care.”

“Do you like working here?  He sounds like an exacting boss.”

“He’s nice to me.  Not everyone is.”  Cole says, “Do you want to dust the cases?  Then you can look.”

“Sure.”  You say willingly, accepting the rag he hands to you.  “That I can do.”

* * *

 

 

**I’m sorry people aren’t nice to you.  I like you, and I just met you!**

 

 

“You do? I’m glad.”  Cole says, glancing up from the pile of dust he’s sweeping up, “It is all right, you know.  You don’t have to feel badly, I do understand.  Sometimes it’s hard when someone is…different.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean people have to be mean.”  You say, running the rag over the back of a case as you curiously examine the trinkets inside.  They don’t have much to identify them, just tags with numbers and where they’re from.  “Everyone can control how they act.”

“Yes.”  Cole agrees, more firmly, “They can.”

You work in comfortable silence for a little bit, enjoying looking through the cases as you wipe them down.  You wouldn’t call anything in here antique, not really.  It’s all much older than that, even if turned to a newer purpose.  Almost like a museum, of stuff for sale.

Allegedly for sale, at least.

“Cole, where is the…”  You hear, accompanied by the opening of the door.

It stops, short, and reluctantly you pull your gaze up to meet the accusing one fixed on you.

“She wanted to help.”  Cole says apologetically, and you give him a reassuring smile.

“I wanted to talk.  And look.”  You correct, trying to keep your voice friendly.  He’s not mad at you, Cole said.  “And he had work to do, so I thought I’d help instead of being in the way.  I’m just dusting.”

Silently, Solas holds his hand out for the rag.

 

* * *

 

****

**I was wondering if those masks in that case are supposed to be Satinalia masks?  I’ve never seen designs like that before.**

 

“They are.”  Solas says, a little bit stiffly, taking the rag out of your hand when you offer it over, “The holiday is older than many people realize.”

“I saw a special on television last year.”  You say, turning back to look in the case again, “They said it used to be a Tevinter holiday.  Are they Tevene?”

“What many people do not realize is that many Tevene holidays are in fact co-opted from their original Elvhen roots.”  Solas says to you, this time sounding a little less stiff, “Not that the people of Tevinter are willing to recognize that, of course.”

“So they’re Elvhen?”  You ask, dubiously, “They don’t look that old.”

“These are not, no.  Leather would not survive that long, no matter how well preserved.”  Solas says, gesturing to the case as he finally approaches.  “What you have here…”

As he continues to talk, you take a second to discreetly glance at your phone.  Your bus is coming soon.  Real soon, actually, might have to make a run for the bus stop soon.  

 

* * *

 

 

Not a huge deal to miss your bus.  It’s really only eight o’clock, and it’s not like the porn store opens at the crack of dawn.  It’s annoying, because right now your commute depends on public transport, but with any luck that’ll be fixed on your day off.

Solas likes to talk, but he’s not doing it to hear himself.  The more questions you ask, the more engaged he is, the less oratory.   _Almost_ friendly.  Still, though, you can see why he and Sera don’t get along, she doesn’t have patience for things like this.  But it is all interesting, if ridiculously out of your price range.

He explains different artifacts for a little while, and the people that used to use them, until Cole says he’s finished up the cleaning.  You almost want to apologize, but he seems pretty delighted that you’ve just been hanging around at all.

Cole seems really nice.

Still, as such things must go on a Sunday night, the mall seems to be closing down when it hits eight.  The first announcement interrupts a discussion about the difference between Avvar and Chasind designs, and Solas actually looks a little embarrassed.

“I apologize for earlier.”  He tells you, completely unprompted, surprising you into speechlessness, “I made an unfounded assumption.  Your interest is greatly appreciated.”

“It’s…okay.”  You say at last, “I guess this is kind of a hard spot to have a shop like this.  You must get a lot of annoying teenagers and tourists looking for the cheap souvenirs.”

“More than you can possibly imagine.”  He says, utterly flat, and then offers you the barest hint of a smile, “Thank you.  Have a good night.”

It’s a clear, but polite dismissal.  He probably wants to get home, too.  You say goodbye to Cole, and then head out of the mall, which is almost eerily quiet now, as stores close down their fronts and lower security gates.  The parking lot is quiet, the night is cold, sending a ghostly little shiver up your spine as you make your way across it.

At least the bus stop is out front of the Hanged Man, so the drunks having a cigarette outside will keep you company.

Luckily, you were chatting so long that the next bus is only ten minutes away.  Leaving behind the Kirkmall, you board it when it comes in, and head to home sweet home, still embarrassingly full of cardboard boxes.

 

 

END OF DAY 1

 

You spend some time unpacking, trying to make your small apartment look a bit more like a home.  It’s not much, but it helps you feel a little more settled in.

 

**Good night, sleep tight.** ****Tomorrow’s another day.** **


	2. Monday, 28th of Harvestmere

The bus drops you off across the street from work just a little early, the Hanged Man looking especially dingy in the bright sunlight.  It’s still locked up tight, and won’t open until noon.  The traffic’s fairly busy right now, so you head down to the intersection and wait at the light instead of skipping across.

Work is in a small strip mall called, unsurprisingly, Evergreen Place.  It’s as if they pull names out of the same hat they use to name apartment complexes and housing developments.  There aren’t many shops in the strip mall, but there’s a block of more shops to either side of it- this is prime real estate, next to the Kirkmall.

Amusingly, Desire’s Dungeon is trapped smack dab between a first aid training center and the DMV, bright pink and garish flanked by two staid and dull looking storefronts.  

A porn shop wasn’t exactly what you were looking for when you moved here- but hey, it pays a decent amount more than minimum wage and it’s owned by a woman.  Obviously there’s some creepy customers, but one of the neighbors has proven to be protective.

Kitty isn’t in, so you unlock the shop and head in on your own.  Weird having been given keys so early, but considering there’s only three employees besides the owner, it made some sense.

You get in, and get settled.  No drawer yet, but you can at least get ready.  There’s a pile of boxes waiting to be broken down, so you start in on that.

When the front door chimes you glance up, but it’s not the owner getting in yet.  An older woman, white hair twisted into a knot enters the store, her polo shirt emblazoned with the training center logo.

“Good morning, dear.”  Wynne greets pleasantly, “In by yourself this morning?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I think Miss Kitty will be in soon.”  You say, matching her smile with one of your own, “So I won’t be by myself for long.”

“Good.”  She says, nodding, “You still have my number, don’t you?  If anyone bothers you young women, you can call at any time.”

“Yep, got it in my phone.”  You confirm.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.  Don’t hesitate, if you feel uncomfortable, just call.”

 

 

* * *

 

**Thank you!  It’s nice to have someone looking out for me.**

 

“That’s a good attitude to have.”  Wynne says approvingly.

“Yeah, I’m not too proud to admit it’s nice to have someone watching my back.”  You say, smiling and nodding back when she does.  “Miss Kitty will probably be in soon.”

“Which means I should probably be going.”  Wynne replies, a small purse of her lips momentarily souring her expression.  “That…woman…Well, I’m glad she treats you well.”

“She does.”  You confirm, and then lift a hand in farewell as Wynne turns to head back out of the store again.

It’s hard not to smile a little when the door opens before she reaches it, and Kitty strides in, sunglasses perched on top of her unnaturally ginger hair.  The pair eye each other, giving one another wide berth as Kitty steps in, and Wynne heads out into the parking lot to go back next door.

Not to make too much of a pun about it, but they sort of look like an unfriendly pair of cats staring each other down.

The door chimes shut, and Kitty rolls her eyes and wanders to the counter with a noisy click of her heels.

“Is that old biddy bothering you?”  She asks, voice a husky little purr.

“Nope!  She just wanted to make sure if I was here alone, I could call her if I needed help.”  You tell her.

“Nosy old bat.  That’s why we have the bear spray under the counter.”  Kitty sighs, and then lifts a hand with a jangle of her bracelets and waves it in the air.  “It doesn’t matter.  I’ll get you a drawer!”

When you first started working here, you wondered why the shop was even open before noon.  Who goes to a porn store in the morning?

As it turns out?  Quite a few people, and not just people shopping for stag and doe parties.  Weird, but hey, you’re not here to judge.

You’re just here to sell it to them.

 

As always, you have to remind Kitty three or four times before she sends you to lunch at last.  It’s now two in the afternoon.  You have a reminder on your phone to stop at the hardware place to fix your bathroom door, but you can do that after work, or on the way back to the shop if you want to eat something besides leftover pizza.

What should we do?

 

* * *

 

 

Heading out of work, you cross the road again.  Better not to leave it for later, you might not feel up to going out later.  If you run late, your pizza is waiting in the fridge with Miss Kitty’s vodka.  The hardware store is in the same parking lot as the Hanged Man, but much further down.  You have to pass the auto shop to get to it, and for a second you’re tempted to pop your head in.  In the end though, you’re on a mission, and they said they’d call you when your car was ready.

The hardware store is a mom and pop sort of place, rather than a chain or one of those huge home improvement joints.  It looks really old, but well-kept, the sign hand carved wood.  Probably by the same person that made the furniture sitting out front under an awning.

It looks hand made, and a glance at one as you approach the door proves it’s priced like it, too.  Ouch.  Still, the honeyed wood is tempting, and you glide your fingers over the arm of a rocking chair, satiny smooth against your skin.

The front door opens under your touch, the smell of raw wood and hot metal hanging in the air with the dust.  The floor is smooth concrete, stained by a mosaic of faded blotches, decades of old spills.

“Be right with you!”  A gruff voice calls from the back of the shop, over the clatter of lumber.

“I’ve got it, thanks!”  You call back.

It’s not hard to find your way around, though the aisles aren’t labeled.  The door hardware kits are next to the bins of nails and screws, a dozen or so hanging up.  With relief, you look them over and realize they are almost all the exact same size.  Standard, then.

You pull the cheapest one down, which still looks nicer than the one on your bathroom door currently.  It has everything, latch plate, knobs, and when you shake it, it rattles.

It has the screws, too.

“You have the tool you need for the job?”  A voice asks from behind you, slightly out of breath.

You turn, the bearded man gazing at you crossing his arms over his broad chest.  He looks, you think, exactly like someone you’d expect to find in a hardware store, oddly enough.  His hands are weathered and calloused, there’s squint creases at the corners of his eyes, and he’s wearing, amusingly, a flannel shirt.

 

* * *

 

 

**Philips screwdriver?  Nope.**

 

“That’d be the one.”  He agrees, voice a bit more friendly, “Over this way.  If you’re planning to keep that knob for more than five years, you might want to spend a bit more.”

You follow after him, glancing down at the package in your hand.  Five years?  It’s just a one year less, actually, and you still don’t know the city well enough to know if you can do better.

“A lot can happen in five years.”  You say, “It’s just an apartment.”

“Ah.  And you’ve got to fix the door yourself?  They ought to be paying you.”  He says, and then chuckles roughly, “But I appreciate wanting to get things done yourself.  Make sure they’re done right.”

“And not have to wait forever and a day to get it done.”  You agree, turning down another aisle behind him.  

“That too.”  He agrees, pulling down two different screwdrivers.  “Both of these ought to serve you well, miss.  Can’t go wrong keeping one in a drawer just in case.”

“I’ll take the rubber one.”  You decide, accepting it from him, and then watching as he puts the other ones back on the shelf.  “The linoleum in the kitchen…it curls up a bit at the edges, where it touches the cabinets.  Is that something that’ll be a problem?”

“Shoddy work.”  He says with gruff disapproval, shaking his head.  “As long as there’s no leaks, or underlying issues, it shouldn’t, I suppose…but I’d rip that right up.  Could cause problems or get worse.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Wanna come over and look at it for me some time?**

 

 

There’s dead silence after you speak, and you start to think you’ve made him angry.  Luckily, he finally gives a faint chuckle, and turns to head towards the front of the shop.

“Been a long time since I’ve had an offer like that.”  He finally says, voice wry, “I think if you have something that dire that needs looking at, miss, you’d best contact your landlord.”

“Not up for the challenge?”  You ask, and he laughs again, this time a bit less stiffly.

“If you do too much work, they’re not liable to thank you for it.”  He says, subtly changing the subject, “But if you take some pictures of the problem, and the floor underneath where it’s pulling up, I might be able to tell you how you can fix it without doing too much.  Anything more than that, best to call someone who owns the place.”

He steps up and behind the counter, holding his hand out for the things you’re carrying.  You pass them over, and then dig out your bank card while he rings you up.

 

 

* * *

 

**We have time enough to go to the mall, maybe stop to say hi to someone.  Let’s say goodbye and head to Antediluvia**

 

You finish checking out quickly, now equipped with everything you need to fix that damn bathroom door, all on your own.  Blackwall turns to hand you your reciept, and you realize he’s given you some sort of card along with it.

You turn it over in your fingers, curiously.

“Miss Josephine over at Montilyet’s helped me set up a website.”  He informs you, sounding a bit embrrassed, “Couldn’t tell you why, never use the thing, but that’s what people do these days.  Got an email on it there.  Sending me the pictures of the damage would be easier than bringing them in, I suppose.”

“Oh!  Thank you.”  You say with a smile, tucking it into your bag with the screwdriver and knob kit.

“Make sure you take clear ones of the places where the linoleum’s pulling up, and what’s underneath.  Can’t see if it’s damaged unless you do that.”  He instructs, “And then I can tell you what you need to fix it.  Still think that shouldn’t be your responsibility, though.”

“I hate waiting for them to get around to me.”  You say, with a helpless shrug, “It seems like they just painted the walls before I moved in, not much else.  Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure.”  He says, and then waves goodbye as you head back out to the parking lot.

You’re a little hungry, and pretty undecided on what to do, but the mall is right there, looming in front of you.  You give in to temptation, and head on in.  The quickest way is to head through the food court, so that’s the entrance you take, next to the seafood place.

It’s crowded.

That’s the first thing you notice, when you push in, a taco place to your left.  Every small shop has a line, and most of the tables are full.  Fried food, salt, grease, the smell of burgers and a hint of spice, there’s hundreds of different things cooking all at once, but oh man…the lines.

You finally decide to keep going, wending your way southward and towards the mall proper.  It’s almost unfair, though, that they put the cookie place and the pretzel place opposite each other right before you had back out into the shops.  The smell carries, all sugary yeasty goodness.

Hard not to give into temptation, but luckily the line at the cookie place is also massive.  Not quite as big as the guy behind the counter in the blue checked apron, though, a stern-faced, huge qunari.

He kind of dwarfs the shop he’s in.  You wonder briefly how he can even move around in the cramped space.  At least he doesn’t have horns to catch on things, you suppose.

 

While you are pondering qunari and cookies, your feet seem to have taken on a life of their own, taking you to the right.  It’s the blaring music from Jenny’s that snaps you out of your reverie, and you blink rapidly.

Glancing up, it’s the Antediluvia sign you see overhead.

“Oh!”  You hear a voice, surprised and a little quizzical, “It’s you again!  Hello!”

A glance to your left meets Cole’s eyes, across the length of the store.

“Hello!”  You greet, turning to face him, “I’m just wandering on my lunch break.  It’s already almost three, and the lines are still awful!”

“Everyone’s going shopping.”  He says, gaze moving from you to the steady stream of people passing by the shop, “Sometimes even here!”

It’s hard not to laugh at that, but you _think_ he didn’t mean it as a joke.

 

* * *

 

 

**Is it just you today, or is Solas in?**

 

“Just me today?  There’s a lot of people here.”  Cole replies, uncertainly, looking past you out into the busy mall.

“I meant working.  Here, today.  Right now.”  You say, clarifying with a smile.

“Oh!  Here working in the shop!”  Cole says, understanding fading to a thoughtful voice, “Solas was here in the morning, but now he’s gone.  He left when I got here.”

It’s disappointing, but you keep your smile, giving a small nod of your head.  Cole nods back, and you stare at each other for a couple seconds.  When it becomes clear that he’s probably not going to give you much more, you try again.

“Is he going to be back today at any point?”

“Probably, yes.”  Cole agrees, and pauses just long enough again for you to feel a little awkward, “It is his shop.  Did you want to talk to him?”

“Yes, but not for any real reason.  I just enjoyed talking to him.”  You tell him, surprised when that makes him smile, broadly, “That makes you happy?”

“It does!”  Cole says, smile fading again, voice slowing thoughtfully once again, “I don’t know…when he’ll be back.  Maybe in the evening?”

“I’m done at work at six thirty, maybe I can stop by?”  You suggest, and then nod back when he nods vigorously at you.

“That might be a good time.”  He agrees,  “He has things to do during the day.”

 

* * *

 

 

**I’ll come by around then.  I’ll bring a treat.**

 

“That’s very…kind of you.”  Cole says, with some surprise, “Thank you.”

“Sure!  No food allergies, or…”  You start, and then smile when he shakes his head, “All right, cool.  After walking through the food court like that I’m kind of craving a tr…”

Your phone beeps at you, and you pull it off to turn off your alarm.  Right, back to work.  You say your goodbyes and head back out into the mall, avoiding the food court and leaving out of the northwest exit this time.  You hadn’t noticed it before, but this way you walk past what must be the ‘Montilyet’s’ you’ve heard about a couple times now.

It’s a pretty little chocolate shop, all white and gold, with two women working inside.  They look a lot alike, probably sisters.  The older one is berating the younger exasperatedly when you head past, continuing on towards the big Orlesian department store that anchors this exit.  No Zevran, it looks like.  He must not be working there today.

It looks nice, if kind of pricy.  The sort of place you go and buy yourself one or two little things when you’re having a bad day.  Or, if you’re lucky, the kind of place someone buys you a present from.

Leaving the mall behind, you make your way across the street and back to work, where Miss Kitty is sitting behind the counter doing her nails and arguing with one of the regulars.  Yes.  Regulars.

The porn store has regulars.  Go figure.

 

You get back to work after a hurried slice of cold pizza, stocking shelves and hoping you don’t find opened packages hidden on any of them.  All in all it’s a busier day than usual, but not nearly as busy as the mall.  Wait until the week of Satinalia, though, Kitty says.

At five thirty, Sera gets in, and your shift starts winding down.  You start getting ready to head out, remembering your promise to Cole.

 

* * *

 

 

**Just say goodbye to Sera and go to the mall.  You can always text her later.**

 

Remembering what Sera had said about Cole before, that he was ‘creepy’, you decide that maybe it’s not better to ask.  You’d rather be a little uncomfortable yourself than put anyone else in a position like that.  Besides, he might not even enjoy himself.  You don’t even know what the party’s going to be like.  Knowing Sera, at the very least it’s going to be loud.

Saying your goodbyes, you head out of work and across the road, returning yet again to the mall.  Seems like you’re always in and out of there, but from what you can tell, that seems to be a case for a lot of people who work around here.  It even has a movie theater.

You can see it across the parking lot, sign bright neon that beckons.  The Paragon’s a pretty good sized theater.  Right now they’re showing a few interesting movies.  Maybe on Wednesday after you pick up your car, you could see a movie.  Gotta be careful on the budget, but a midday matinee won’t break the bank.

You can either head to the northeast entrance, by the food court, or the northwest entrance again, over by the department store, Valmont.  It’s pretty chilly tonight, breath fogging as you head through the parking lot.  People seem to be leaving, rather than arriving, and it’s starting to clear out.

 

* * *

 

 

**Let’s go to the food court.  I’d rather pick up cookies, it’s easier on the budget.**

 

Cookies will have to do.  It’s not really a fancy enough occasion to splurge on chocolates, even if it is tempting.  The food court isn’t as bad as it was at lunch, but still plenty busy.

You pass through without too much fuss, cheeks flushing warmly as you adjust to the change in temperature.  Going to need to pull out the gloves and scarf soon.

The line at the cookie shop is short, and you’re to the head in no time.  The same man from earlier is still standing at the counter, arms folded over his chest as he stares at a departing customer.  When you reach the counter his attention turns to you, expectantly.

“Hi, can I get a half dozen?  Chocolate chip.”  You say, assuming it’s better to be generic.

“Yes.”  He says in a dark, rumbling voice, and turns to pick them out of the case.

And…that’s about the extent of the conversation, you find, the rest of the transaction short and efficient.  By the time you realize it, you’ve paid and turned away.  You glance over your shoulder once as you head off, and then shake your head and continue on.

Well, you have cookies now, and somewhere you need to deliver them.

 

On the way there, you sneak one out of the bag to nibble on.  Still just a little bit warm, chocolate chips still melted in the middle.  Perfect.  Better to have one now, rather than risk them getting cold.  

Letting the crowd pull you along, you turn the corner.  Are there already more Satinalia decorations than there were this morning?  There must be, and people are putting some up even as you watch.  A thin elven man with grey hair is arguing with an older blonde woman in a mall security uniform as you pass by lights being strung in the main thoroughfare, and you give them a wide berth.  

Still, their arguing is loud and animated, and you watch curiously as she leans in, shouting down at him.  You can’t make it out over the noise of the crowd, unfortunately.

“What is so fascinating, I wonder?”  Someone asks, close enough that you practically jump out of your skin.

Spinning on a heel, cookie in your mouth, you glance up and realize you’ve nearly wandered past your destination.  Solas is watching you from the entrance of the shop, curiously, a load of leather bound books in his arms.

“Mmfh…”  You mumble, and then reach up and free your mouth as he lifts his brows, and you turn and gesture with the cookie back at the bickering.  “That.  They’re really going at it.”

He steps out of the shop and glances over your shoulder, confusion immediately replaced by a very faint smile.  He chuckles, shakes his head, and then steps back towards the store again.  You follow.

“Ah, yes.  A common sight.”  He says, moving to the shelf he was filling, “Security and administration do not see…eye to eye.  And Meredith enjoys shouting.”

“And they just yell at each other in front of everyone?”  You ask, wandering over and offering him the bag as he frees his hands.

“They do.  I am certain there is some valid reason for disagreement, but the public display is a bit…”  He trails off as he glances aside, looking down into the bag.

“I told Cole I’d bring him something.  They’re still warm…”  You say, cajoling as you give the bag a little shake.

“Thank you.”  He finally decides, selecting one two fingers.  “Cole should be in the back, he will be out in a moment.”

 

* * *

 

 

**I brought them for both of you, sort of to say thanks.  I really enjoyed talking with you last night.**

 

“That is very kind of you to say.  Most people do not consider what I have to say particularly valuable.”  He says, sounding guarded, “I enjoyed it as well.”

“I haven’t lived here for long, so maybe I’m just hunting for friendly conversations.”  You explain, and then add with a small laugh, “But I really just like talking to people in general, so I guess that’s not a good excuse for poking around.  I just really like hearing people talk about things they’re passionate about.”

“Curiosity is a trait that should be indulged.  Those who lack it are sadly often wholly uninteresting people.”  Solas says, breaking a piece from the cookie.

“And I guess being curious means you meet more…”

You’re interrupted by the sudden raising of voices, and you turn to watch as the pair of people you saw arguing just before storm past the shop.  The elven man is staring straight ahead, stony-faced, and the woman is chasing after him, still orating stridently.

“…Is a security hazard!  Blocking my cameras with that utter nonsense will lead to…”  You manage to hear, before they are swallowed by the crowd once again.

A man chasing after them pauses, looking rather harried, smoothing a hand over his tousled hair.  He’s wearing a security uniform as well, but seems pretty mortified by the fight.

“Never a dull moment, Cullen?”  You hear Solas call from behind you, and the man glances over.

His gaze settles on you, and he returns your smile distractedly, attention moving on to Solas.

“She _hates_ the holiday.”  He says, and then sighs and rubs the back of his neck,  “Only going to get worse, I’m afraid.  Have a good night, Solas.”

“And one to you as well.”  Solas says.

Cullen glances at you again, nods and forces a smile, and then continues on his way, picking up to a slow jog to try and catch up.

“Funny, the chaos of the mall doesn’t really seem to suit your shop.”  You say, turning back to the quiet, dimly-lit oasis of calm. 

“I enjoy the contrast, and there are always people to watch.”  Solas says, voice mild, and then taking on a bite of sarcastic amusement, “It helps that the shop is not terribly popular.”

 

* * *

 

 

**I’d much rather talk to people than watch them.  Sometimes I get lucky and meet someone like you.**

 

It’s strange, when you say that, for a second Solas freezes.  It’s so quick that you almost think you imagined it, the wariness in his blue eyes gone as soon as it appeared.  Still, the smile he gives you isn’t quite genuine, subtle as it is.

“If that is true, you have an uncommon interest in early historical artifacts.” He says, pleasantly neutral, “What is it you do?  I don’t believe you mentioned it…”

He leans against the counter, arms folding comfortably.  The posture is relaxed, and he’s not frowning, but the unease lingers.  You must have said the wrong thing?  But he doesn’t seem angry, just…

Suspicious.

The back room of the shop opens, and Cole finally emerges, dust in his hair.  He seems surprised to see you, though you did tell him you were coming by, and you return his wave, lifting the bag.

“I brought cookies, Cole.”  You tell him, and he brightens, wiping his hands on his pants and wandering over. “Two of them are for you.”

You take  the opportunity to grab another one for yourself, which leaves one in the bag.  You offer the bag over to Solas, who is still watching you with an inscrutable look on his face.

“I promise, it doesn’t bite?”  You say teasingly, smiling in relief as he pushes away from the counter and moves to accept it.

Still, he seems to be waiting.  Oh, right.  The question.

“I work across the street, at Desire’s Dungeon?”  You say.

 

* * *

 

**I** **just need something to get me through for a while.  I’m transferring to the university here in the spring to finish up, I’m studying (library science)**

 

 

“Though I just really have a passion for organizing pornography.”  You say, deadpan, “It’s more difficult than you might think!  Never know the right place for things to go and…crap, that was an accidental double entendre.”

You finally manage to get Solas to smile, bringing with it a subtle relaxation that eases the tension in his posture.  It’s hard not to wonder what you said to make him react like that, but at least you seem to have somehow made it through blind.  He’s sort of hard to navigate.  Like there’s a lot going on under the surface.

“Three hundred and six.”  Cole interjects, voice thin and faraway, “Point…seven?”

You turn to look at him as he takes a bite out of one of his cookies, chewing contemplatively, and then staring at the piece in his hand.

“Why do you know…”  You say, interrupting yourself with a shake of your head before the question can escape and actually get answered, “Never mind, it’s probably better not to ask that.”

“You are likely correct.  I suppose that may explain the rampant curiosity.”  Solas says, with a touch of humor, “And the endless questions.”

“All right, those?  Those are your fault.”  You counter, lifting a finger, “You like to talk.  So don’t act as if it’s completely my fault.”

“I am merely answering your questions.  In full, as is only polite.  A terse response would hardly do the subjects justice.”  He says, voice dryly amused, “Though it seems there is a modern trend of being far too busy to listen to anything not boiled down to a singular, one-dimensional catchphrase.”

“So you’re saying you prefer communication with more…nuance?”  

“There must be a balance, of course, you must still have something to say and be comprehensible, in the end…but yes.”  He says, “Subtlety is a lost art.”

 

* * *

 

 

**And would you say you’re an artist, then?**

 

“I believe I would say that, yes.”  He agrees, with a leisurely half-smile, “Unfortunately, it is one of those arts that requires a suitable partner.”

There’s a bit of tension in the air again, but this time it isn’t exactly unpleasant.  It’s more the kind that makes you want to draw it out, find the right thing to say to keep it going.  Warm in the pit of the stomach tension.

“It’s a shame that it’s such a difficult thing for you to find.”  You agree, keeping your voice as light as you can manage, “I’d imagine practicing alone is pretty unsatisfying.”

“Like dancing!”  Cole interjects, sounding rather pleased, though it fades quickly, “Though people like to dance alone.  Perhaps it’s not the same.”

You blink and turn your attention to him, meeting his smile.  You can’t help but return it, a small laugh in your voice.

“I don’t know.  Dancing alone and dancing with someone else are pretty different.”  You say, and he gives a faint ‘hmm’ under his breath.

“It is almost seven thirty, Cole.”  Solas says mildly.

When you glance back at him out of the corner of your vision, the smile is still there at least, even if a bit faded.  His announcement, though, draws your attention to your phone, slid out of your pocket to glance at it.

No messages, but he’s right, it’s almost seven thirty.

“Thank you for the cookies.  I should go finish opening the boxes, so I can go home.”  Cole says to you.

“You’re welcome, I figured this time if I was going to distract you in front of your boss, I’d at least bring a bribe.”  You say, and then laugh at Solas’ faint scoff.

 

* * *

 

 

**We should wait for Cole and head out with him.**

 

“You mind if I hang around for a couple minutes, and see if Cole will walk out with me?”  You ask Solas, though he hasn’t seemed to have minded you hanging around so far.

“Not at all.”  He says, extending a hand towards you.

It takes you a second to realize just what he’s indicating, and you glance down at the cookie bag still in your hand.  You pass it over to him, with a nod of thanks, and he moves to throw it away behind the counter.

“So next time I come by to bother you, should I bring a bribe again?” You ask teasingly, eyes curiously fixed on a book he pulls out from under the register.

“You are welcome, with or without them.  Provided of course you continue to treat my employees with respect.”  Solas says, opening the book in his palm and leafing through it.

“I hadn’t planned on anything else.”

You assume he means Cole, because you sure as heck haven’t seen any other employees.  Solas eyes you in silence for a few seconds, before nodding his head with a faint smile.

It’s not surprising he’s the protective sort.

When Cole ducks out of the back, he seems surprised that you’re waiting for him, but willing to walk together.  Most of the shops are still open, but there aren’t many shoppers left.  At least, not until you’re almost to Valmont.

There’s a place full of people, weirdly enough, and it doesn’t have a sign.  That’s strange enough, as is the fancy dress and glasses of what you assume are wine everyone has in hand.  You pause for a second, and when he notices you have as well, Cole doubles back to join you.

“There’s new paintings.”  He tells you quietly.

Finally you spot the sign, if you can call it that.  What you thought was a decorative edge on the bottom of the windows proves to be words, in a scrolling gilt script.  La Galerie Royale.

“I think I’m underdressed for the occasion.”  You joke, and then shake your head and continue on your way, “It seems like a big deal, though.”

“It is.  I heard.”  Cole confirms, glancing over his shoulder once, “They thought he was gone, but he wasn’t.”

“Who, the artist?”  You ask, shivering as you push open the door with your shoulder, hit with a blast of cold air.

Damn, it’s chillier out than you thought.

“Yes, Madame’s pleased.”  Cole says, and then abruptly gives a faint ‘oh’, pulling ahead of you across the parking lot, picking up his pace.

He must have caught sight of his bus.  You hope you didn’t make him miss it.

You start jogging after him, only to realize when you pull up next to him again that he was running towards someone.  While you’re trying to catch your breath, he’s digging out a wrapped sandwich and handing it to a homeless man resting against the wall of the Hanged Man with his backpack at his feet.

Once the brief transaction is finished, you and Cole continue on to the bus stop.

“Do you do that often?”  You ask curiously, once you’ve both settled down at the bench.

“Yes.  It doesn’t cost very much.”  Cole says, pulling his backpack around and unzipping a pocket to fish out his bus card, “Are you going home now, too?”

 

* * *

 

 

**I was going to stop in at the Hanged Man first.   Can I give you my phone number?  Then I can text you to talk, instead of bothering you at work all the time.**

Cole seems delighted with the request, and you exchange numbers quickly.  The night is pleasantly clear, which may explain how cold it is, but light pollution blocks out most of the night sky, reflecting off the few clouds there are.  Still, the moon is bright, and the sting of frost in your nostrils is bracing, not unpleasant.

You talk for about ten minutes, about nothing in particular, watching cars go by and listening to the occasional burst of noise from the bar behind you.  By the time Cole’s bus comes, and you say goodbye, you’re ready to get in out of the early winter weather.

The bus rumbles off, and you rise to your feet.  The entrance to the bar is just a half block left of the bus stop, close enough that the cigarette smoke tends to linger.  There’s a couple people outside having a smoke, but none of them even glances your way as you move to push into the bar.

The Hanged Man is not quite what you’d call a dive, maybe just because it’s a little bit too big to be one.  The ambiance fits the bill, but it’s a cozy sort of run-down grunginess, where things are worn in, not trashed.  Sound and warmth hits you as you push through the door and enter, the smell of grease and stale beer in the air.

If you want healthy, this isn’t the place to be.

This time of night it’s a decent crowd, noisy but self-contained, people clustered at tables or sitting at the long, scarred bar.  You don’t see anyone you recognize besides Varric, the owner, who’s sitting alone at the very far end of the bar with a laptop and a beer.  He looks busy.

While you’re observing the crowd and feeling your nose go from chilled to ‘oh no it’s going to start running’ warm, there’s a sudden, noisy crash, and a man at the bar goes spilling over his stool, landing on the floor flat on his back.  You’re not the only one who jumps at the sudden noise, stopping to stare at the sudden flurry of movement.

The man’s friends (you assume), all jolt to their feet, staring at a dark-haired woman sitting at the bar with a mug in front of her.  Casually, she releases the fallen stool, moving her foot away.  

It’s about to get heated, but the woman doesn’t seem flustered, picking up her beer.

 

* * *

 

 

**This could be interesting, let’s get a seat at the bar and watch.**

 

Feeling brave, you decide to head on over to where the altercation is.  There’s three of them, and one of her, and there’s a bouncer at the door.  Maybe you can at least keep an eye out unless you need to call someone over.  Or, you know, stick your nose in and give her some verbal backup?

This might be a terrible idea.

You find a stool two down from the woman, trying not to crowd too close in case people start swinging.  By the time you get there, the man on the floor has scrambled to his feet, the others starting to crowd her space.  She’s still drinking, but it spills to the ground as one of them grabs her elbow, and yanks on it.

You see the bouncer start to move, but he’s not quite quick enough.

You’re not sure quite what’s happened, until the man is flung into your side, slamming into your shoulder and then slumping over onto the ground.  You wince, and nearly lose your seat, but a hand grabs your upper arm before you can topple over.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”  The woman says, shaking her other hand, the knuckles bright red from the impact.

Glancing down, you realize the man collapsed at your feet is bleeding from the nose.  Still stunned, you look up again, and meet a wide, friendly smile.  Your eyes shift up, and realize the third man is reaching for the woman’s shoulder.  Not sure if the bouncer is going to make it in time or not.

You barely have time to react.

 

* * *

 

 

**Look out!**

 

 

The words are out of your mouth like a reflex, knee-jerk fast and practically stumbling over each other.  The shout seems to do more good startling the man than warning Isabela, because she’s already released you and turned by the time the first syllable is out of your mouth.

It’s over so quick that you’re dazed, a hit to her shoulder not stopping her knee to his groin.  From somewhere else in the bar another bouncer shows up, and as you watch, and the woman flops down on her stool rolling her shoulder, the men are more or less dragged off.

Well, the third one is still rolling around on the floor, but you’re pretty sure they’ll get to him in a second.

The dark-haired woman reaches for her sideways drink, peering into it and then giving a disgusted sigh.

“Isn’t that always the way?  So bloody inconsiderate.”  She asks you, her eyes shifting over as she flashes you a broad smile, “What are we drinking tonight?”

 

* * *

 

 

**What would you like?  It’s on me.**

 

“Well, aren’t you sweet?”  The woman says, gracing you with a warm, lazy smile.  “In that case…”

“Caging drinks already, Isabela?”  A pleasantly rough voice asks, one of the toppled stools pulled upright again with a clatter.

You give a small wave to Varric as you lean around Isabela to glance at him.  He gives you a nod, and then a brief once-over.

“You okay?”

“She’s fine, and I did not cage, Varric, she offered.”  Isabela says, before you can speak up for yourself, “Some people are just kind and generous.”

“And some people just don’t know better yet.”  Varric counters, seeming completely unworried about the fight that just happened in his bar.  “Or don’t know you well enough.”

Isabela just grins, and turns her attention back to you, tilting her head to the side with a swing of her earrings.

“Rum and lime juice, please.”  She says, and then flashes you an impish smile, “It’s like a daiquiri, without all that sugar getting in the way of your alcohol.”

“That, and a beer, please.”  You tell the bartender, not really trusting the look of the shelves.  The beer should be good, right?  That’s almost all anyone’s drinking. 

It’s a beer and whiskey sort of place.

“Get me another beer, too.”  Varric orders, folding up his laptop and setting it down on the bar.  “Isabela, you going to tell me what the hell that was all about?  I should at least pretend like I care in case the cops come around.”

“Just some hurt feelings.”  Isabela says slyly, glancing down and flexing her bruised knuckles testingly, “You know how sensitive men can be.  Big babies.”

“Right.  I’ll believe that one…”  Varric says, trailing off with a sigh, “You can’t keep doing this.  I don’t want to have to tell you not to come around, you know that.  You almost got people hurt.”

 

* * *

 

 

**They did start it.  She was just defending herself!**

 

Isabela laughs at your words, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Varric gives a weary sigh and shakes his head.  As a glass is set in front of Isabela, she lifts it in salute to you, and you raise your beer to clink against it.

“See, Varric?  Nothing to get in a fuss about.”  Isabela says, giving you a slow, subtle wink with a tilt of her head to hide it from him.  “Anyway, it’s over and done, and you can bet they won’t be running crying to any police.”

“Somehow, that’s not a bet I’m feeling up to taking, Rivani.”  Varric says, and then leans forward to speak to you, “Settling in okay?” 

“I think so.”  You agree,  “Apartment’s still a bit of a mess, but at least I’ve got hot water and a place to sleep.”

You take a tentative sip of your pale beer, fingers leaving marks in the condensation on the sides of the pint glass.  It tastes…unexciting, which is probably best for your wallet. If you keep up the spending, you won’t have anything at all left for this weekend in the fun budget.  It’s really not that big of a budget.  You should probably start cooking at home.

“Better than some.”  Varric agrees, giving a faint sigh.  “Rough business, your car breaking right after you move in to town.  But hey, like I told you before, Bull and his crew won’t cheat you.”

You didn’t meet Bull, when you took in the car to Chargers.  A man named Rocky was the one who handled it.  Taciturn, but it seemed like they knew what they were doing.

“As long as I don’t need a new transmission or something, I’m happy.”  You say, and then laugh, “…The car’s worth less than a new transmission would be, so I might be stuck with buses if that’s what it comes down to.”

“Isn’t that the way of it?”  Isabela asks, cupping her fingers over the rim of her glass as she observes you, “So you’re new in town, are you?”

“Of course she is, she hasn’t been warned about you yet, Rivani.”  Varric says wryly.

 

* * *

 

 

**Warning?  That’s only a yellow light, and we all know those just mean ‘go faster’.**

 

“You.  I like you.”  Isabela says, laughter warming her voice as she lifts her glass in salute to you.

“And that’s when I remind myself never to drive with you.”  Varric says dryly to you, shaking his head and shifting his attention to Isabela,  “All right, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night.  Don’t forget to call Hawke.”

Hawke?  You wonder which one it is.  You’ve know Bethany and Carver, of course, but the third one remains a mystery.  But as far as you’ve been able to ascertain, everyone calls the eldest by their last name, not the twins.

You haven’t heard many stories about them, but it sounds more like legend than truth every time you do.

“Right, right.”  Isabela dismisses, waving a hand in what you assume is farewell.

“Have a good night, Varric.”  You say, smiling when he shakes his head at you, “What?”

“Don’t get in over your head, it happens far too easily around these troublemakers.”  He says, picking up both his beer and his computer, “Trust me on that one.”

“You should trust him, because half the time it’s his fault.”  Isabela tells you slyly, and then laughs as Varric scoffs and strides off for the stairs, her voice lifting, “You know it’s true, Varric!”

You both watch him disappear, Isabela’s lazy chuckle still warm in your ear.  

“It is true.  Varric has _much_ better stories than most.”  She says, propping her chin up on her fist as you turn to look at her.

A bit close for casual conversation, but not uncomfortably so.

 

* * *

 

 

**I find it hard to believe he’s more exciting than you are, though.**

 

“You _are_ adorable, aren’t you?”  Isabela says, lifting her glass and bumping it briefly against your nose.  “And correct!”

“I try.”  You say with a little grin, wiping the condensation off the tip of your nose, “Good to know I didn’t fail this time.”

“Oh, no, you’re doing excellently.”  Isabela says approvingly, tapping fingers against her cheek, “You know, if it weren’t for Varric, I don’t think I’d bother coming around this side of town.  It’s all a bit too clean.”

“Too clean?”  You ask, glancing over your shoulder at the rather dingy bar.  “I guess I understand what you mean.  This place doesn’t quite fit in with the department stores and the chain restaurants.”

“No.  And that’s why I like it.”  Isabela agrees, grin deepening a bit, “They’ve been trying to drive him out for ages.  Haven’t succeeded yet.”

“Miss Kitty says the same thing, actually.”  You say, lifting your beer for another sip.  “Property values or something.”

“You know Kitty?”  Isabela asks with surprise, and then chuckles when you nod, “She’s been thirty five for fifteen years now, I’d wager.”

“I would not take that bet.  I work for her, actually.”  You say, nodding your head as Isabela raises an eyebrow.

“So you stick your nose into bar fights, work in a sex shop, and can buy a girl a drink without being an ass about it?”  Isabela asks rhetorically, and then lifts her glass to you, “Be careful, sweetheart, or I might throw you over my shoulder and take you home with me.”

 

* * *

 

 

**And if you’re not careful, we won’t make it that far.**

 

Isabela laughs, warm and rich, leaning back from you to toss back the last of her drink.  You follow suit, or at least try to, tilting back what remains of your neglected beer.  While you’re drinking, she slams her glass down on the bar with a loud ‘clack’, drawing the bartender’s attention.

“Varric is buying our drinks tonight.”  She says, with a smirk.

“I said I would…”  You start, a subtle nudge to your ribs silencing you.

“Varric’s got it.”  She replies, and then gives you a small wink, “He owns the place, it costs him pennies to your dollar.  Maybe I’ll save that drink you owe me for another time.”

“Another time?”  You ask, trying to hide your disappointment.  

Maybe you misread her?  It’s not as if she’s been subtle, but you…

Isabela laughs, abrupt and boisterous, and you glance up just as her fingers tuck under your chin, not much more than a small caress, not holding you in place.  Her hand is warm, skin a little calloused.

“Don’t pout.”  She orders, eyes gazing into yours, so close that the tip of your nose bumps into hers.  “You’ve already charmed me, there’s no need to twist the blade like that.”

“I’m not pouting.”  You deny, and then laugh along with her, rolling your eyes at yourself,  “Okay, maybe I was a little.”

“You’re a terrible liar, leave that to those of us with the skill.” She says, fingers retreating as she pulls back, dropping to the floor.

You settle back in your seat and watch her, a bit twisted up (and maybe not just in the stomach).  If this is some sort of game, nobody ever taught you the rules, and she doesn’t seem the type to play them.  Does she?

She takes two steps away, and then glances over her shoulder at you, fist resting on her hip.  Your eyes meet, and the bit of uncertainty fades away.

“Well?  Are you coming or not?”  She finally asks, a cocky grin on her lips.

 

* * *

 

 

****

**Yes**

 

Without further ado, you take Isabela by the arm and join her on the way out of the bar.  This wasn’t exactly what you were expecting tonight, but sometimes life is like that, and you have to just let the chaos drag you along for the ride.

And she is chaos.  You’re not even sure where you end up (you assume it’s her place), but before you’re in the door clothes are hitting the floor and her mouth is on yours.  Not that you were expecting a grand tour and a cup of tea, but you weren’t expecting to be practically knocked off of your feet, either.

Luckily there’s a bed to catch you when you fall.

You aren’t quite sure if you’ve ever had an evening quite this wild, and not just the coming home from the bar with a girl you’ve just met.  You’re no blushing virgin, but it seems there’s always new things to learn.  You try to give as good as you get, but you have a feeling most people have trouble keeping up with her.

 

After a few savage, satiating hours that leave you pleasantly exhausted, you remember that you do in fact have work tomorrow.  When you mention it, after the afterglow has been sufficiently enjoyed and all body parts have been accounted for, she suggests calling you a cab.  It’s not unfriendly, but it’s certainly casual.  Not freezing you out, though, because she steals your phone and puts her number in it, and gives you a kiss or three before you go.

You take the hint, and don’t push it or ask to stay.  She seems to appreciate that you don’t.

 

All in all, an enjoyable evening.

 

 

## End of Day 2

You have no time to do anything extra today.  Good night!

 

_We will see you tomorrow._

 

 


	3. Tuesday, 29th of Harvestmere

You wake up with your alarm, stiff and a bit groggy, but somehow manage to roll out of bed.  A glance at your phone proves you have two messages waiting for you, but not much time to get ready and get to work.

That takes priority.

Your morning shower works out most of the kinks from the night before, but a well-placed, fashionable scarf is necessary to hide some of the aftermath.  Luckily it’s cold out, not the middle of summer, and you can get away with it.  You look a little silly wearing a scarf inside the shop, but more hipster than hobo.  Yep, you’re working morning again, Thursday and Friday are your evenings, and it goes much as it always does.

You’re in before Kitty, and when she arrives she retreats to the back room to count a drawer and watch the tiny television she has back there.  Nursing a hangover, probably.  You’re starting to get the hang of things here, and obviously the status quo equates to- make Miss Kitty do as little work as possible.

Fair.  There are worse ways to earn a paycheck.  You take some quiet time to check your messages at last, once the day is started.  There really isn’t much else to do.

 

**I’ll just let Bethany know that I’ll meet her at lunch, and then figure out what the heck Sera is going on about.**

 

You quickly text Bethany that you’ll meet her at Valmont at two, and then switch back to chat with Sera.  Feeling somewhat self conscious about just screwing around, you start straightening up shelves between texts.

Just because it’s ten on a Tuesday at the sex shop doesn’t mean you need to slack off.  You fight the urge to find a better organization system for the porn DVDs.  Miss Kitty probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

 

 

_Oh._

Okay, well, you didn’t realize that’s what she was talking about.  You’ve heard the stories, seen the pictures.  Extreme guerrilla art was more of a thing fifteen, twenty years ago, and he was definitely at the forefront of the whole political side of it.  They made a _whole_ lot of noise, and made a whole lot of people angry.  Not that you know it was him, or that he exists.  Most people assume Fen’harel was just a blanket term for a group of people doing work together.

A lot of that sort of work was transient by design, but you know a few places where they literally demolished walls to preserve the artwork on them.  Put it inside four walls, put a price tag on something that was never supposed to have one.  Since no one could find him, or knew who he was, it was kind of a gray area…but no one ever stepped forward.

You have the feeling the irony of that was lost on some people.

Eventually Fen’harel just disappeared.  You probably would, too, if people kept missing the damn point like that.  Probably felt pretty futile.   These days what was once a tool for shocking and engaging people, getting them to think and talk is  mostly used by advertising agencies.  Kinda sad.  You didn’t realize Sera was a fan, but it makes a lot of sense.  She’s a lot more political than people would assume from a casual glance.  

Fen’harel doing a ritzy gallery show, fifteen years out of disappearing off the face of the earth?  Throwing the name out there for a cash grab?  Okay, yeah, you can see how that would make her furious.  Make a lot of people furious.

Especially if there _was_ a him all along, and it really _is_ him.

 

* * *

 

 

**So, you get the spray paint, I’ll get the bail money?**

 

** **

** **

 

You’re starting to think you’re about to get sucked into a _scheme_.

 

* * *

 

 

**Sounds easy enough.  I’m in.**

 

As far as schemes go, Sera’s is a fairly mild one.  It’s really going to be rough if she finds out it really is Fen’harel selling out, though. _If_ she even believes it.  Well, you can help her take some pictures, at least, that’s what a good friend would do, right?  You arrange to meet with her after work, and then get back to the exciting business of selling pornography and sex toys.

When lunch time comes, you’re ready to make a break for it across the street.  You have a feeling Bethany feels much the same, because she’s waiting right at the entrance for you, a broad smile on her face.

“I didn’t even bother asking Carver to come this year.”  She tells you, immediately tucking her arm through yours and heading towards the massive department store right nearby.

“He’d probably go along for your sake.”  You say, wrinkling your nose at the sudden mix of overpriced perfumes as you head in through the door and pass through the cosmetics department.

“He’d complain the whole time.”  Bethany says cheerfully.

The store is fully decked out in Satinalia displays and decorations now, and the  music is going and everything.  It’s a bit overwhelming, like you walked from reality into some sort of holiday parallel universe.

The mask display is a big deal, every year.  All the huge designers that sell their stuff through Valmont design one, and they’re all ridiculously over the top and ornate.  And expensive.

These are all reproductions for the store, of course, but they have a whole fashion show with the originals and everything.  You heard that one of the designers covered theirs in enough gemstones that the whole thing was worth almost three million.  Ridiculous, but very…very sparkly.

The display is in the middle of the store at the top of the escalator, coming into view as you ride up it, turning to crane your necks and watch as it slowly appears.  A light up crescent moon is at the top of a massive glass-cased display, the masks arranged on tiers with small plaques, and lights and decorations between them.

It’s silly, fantastical, glittering and shimmering.  Gold filigree and brocade, beading and inlay, there’s a few dozen of them, and every single one is overdone and designed to within an inch of their lives.

It’s also completely amazing.

“They’re so beautiful.  Look, there’s the diamond and emerald one!”  Bethany sighs as you both leave the escalator, turning to approach and get a better vantage point.  “I’m just going to make my own again this year.  What about you?”

 

* * *

 

 

**I’m not sure yet, I was going to make one myself, too.**

 

“We should do it together!  My whole family makes masks, you should come over!”  Bethany says enthusiastically,  “It’s quite a bit of fun.”

“I mean, sure…”  You say, giving a small smile as Bethany glances at you, “Sorry, it’s just my first holiday here.”

You move a bit closer to the huge display, admiring a filigree gold mask made to look like a bird, with green and blue inlaid feathers.  Even just a reproduction of the original, it looks like it took a lot of work.

“Oh yes, that’s right.  The mall does a huge party, you know.  And then there’s the parades, of course, at the street festival.”  Bethany says, wandering around the side of the huge glass case,  “It will be a very busy week.”

A whole week?  It wasn’t that big of a deal back home, but it seems like everyone goes all out here.  Hopefully it’s not day and night.  You aren’t afraid of being left out of things, by now.  Everyone’s so friendly, and it really is starting to feel like you’re branching out, making new friends and meeting new people.

And new…other things.  

“I hope I’ll be able to sleep,”  You joke, “if the party’s going all the time.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”  Bethany says with a little smile, peeking around the case at you.  “I always feel like I need a whole _week_ of sleep afterwards.”

“Sounds like fun.”  You decide.

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”  Bethany asks, as you come around the corner to join her, “We should go downstairs to the cafe.”

 

* * *

 

 

**That would be great, thanks.  I keep forgetting to eat!**

 

 

You are all too aware, as you and Bethany take one last look at the masks and then head for the escalator, that you really need to start working on your budgeting.  Things are going to be tight until spring.  With that in mind, you make a mental note to hit the grocery store tomorrow.  If you’re lucky, you’ll have your car, so it won’t be such a problem.

Mentally, you add it to your list.  Grocery shopping.

Still, peanut butter sandwiches or ramen for dinner are a small price to pay for the occasional treat, right?  And you didn’t even end up paying for drinks last night…though you did have to pay for the cab.

With that in mind, you head back out of the busy department store, listening to Bethany talk about holiday plans.  You really did underestimate how into things people were here.  The holiday music starting so early makes sense now.

The cafe is connected to the store, but just outside of it, boasting Orlesian-style sandwiches and salads.  There’s only a couple patrons, and an elven woman standing behind the counter with her wavy hair barely tamed by a thick bun.  She’s speaking with a tall man, likewise elven, leaning against the counter with his arms folded, both of them low enough that you can’t even make out what they’re saying when you step into line.

The woman notices you, and sends the man away with a small flit of her hand.  He pushes up, turning for the door and shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn-in jeans.  You barely give him a glance, at least until you notice his eyes.  They’re violet, really striking actually, a color you’re not sure if you’ve seen before.

He notices you looking, and grins wryly at you, moving past to head out the door.

“Hello. How can I help you?”  The woman at the counter asks, just brisk enough to nearly be impatient.

You turn your attention back, gaze shifting up to the menu above her head.

Both of you make your orders and pay, and then settle in to eat.  It’s nice to sit down and have lunch, though you’re not terribly long on time.  The woman at the counter seems a bit fidgety, you notice out of the corner of your vision.  She’s always watching the windows, and sends customers on their way as quickly as she can.

Must be waiting for someone.

You never find out who, because as soon as you finish it’s time to say goodbye and head back to work.  You and Bethany part ways, with her reminding you again that you’re welcome to share in some of her family’s festivities.  She’s awfully sweet.  Funny how twins can be so different.

You’re back at work, and while there’s some things waiting for you to take care of them, there’s really not a ton to do.  You can probably work and play around on your phone a bit more until the evening person gets in.

 

* * *

 

 

**If we’re going to make our own mask, we should start getting ideas online. &  Grocery shopping tomorrow.  Let’s make a list and check the ads.**

 

Feeling responsible (but not _that_ responsible), between customers and bouts of cleaning and stocking, you poke around on your phone.  You handle the grocery shopping first, trying to remember the few things you’ve actually bought for the apartment.

Luckily the online ads are helpful, and you manage to figure out the best store near your apartment to hit tomorrow.  A quick list of sale stuff and necessities will hopefully keep you on track- and keep the prices down.

Once you’ve done at least one adult thing, you can poke around online at the craft sites and check out what seems to be in trend.  This year everyone seems to be going less traditional, the solid, painted festival masks of last year replaced by lots of filigree and asymmetrical designs.  More expensive, and harder to make by hand…which is probably why they’re trying to make them in fashion.  Apparently leather is also a thing this year.

Well, at least if you can’t find anything else, work sells gimp masks?

In your poking around, though, you find there’s a pretty decent craft store about a fifteen minute bus ride from your house.  So, if you end up wanting to go that route, that’ll be the place to go.

By five or so is when business actually starts happening on the weekdays, and you’re forced to put away your phone.  The rest of your shift goes by with only a few annoying customers.  Miss Kitty only reminds you about the bear mace once tonight.

You’re starting to think she’s hoping you use it on someone.

The end of your shift comes, and you pack up and get your jacket.  When you head out, it’s _cold._  Next door is dark, Wynne must have already gone home.  From the sign on the door, it looks like they only do evening classes on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Grateful for your ‘fashionable’ scarf hiding the mark on your neck, you huddle into it and head back across the road again.  It’s becoming a habit, and not just because the bus stop is there.

You need to go meet up with Sera at the gallery.  Time to give her a hand.  You really hope this helps.

 

* * *

 

 

**Let’s hurry.  We don’t want to make her wait, and we can get it over with quick.**

 

As you head towards the entrance, your mind, as it has been for a large portion of the day, is conflicted.  Not about helping Sera, you’re happy to do this, and you are sort of curious.  You texted Isabela last night, just a ‘got home safe’, because that’s the polite thing to do, you’re pretty sure.  And you’ve been thinking, all day, about texting her again.  Would it seem kind of weird or pushy?  It’s obvious she’s happy just being friends.  She made that pretty clear last night.  And then there’s the whole fact that you just _keep_ ending up at Solas’ shop, and not just to hang out with Cole.

Probably better not to think about it too much, right?  

You have, all of a sudden, a whole lot going on in your life.  Or at least a lot of possibilities.

The warm air hits your cheeks as you head back into the glittering, silver-gilt world of the mall interior.  It’s all Satinalia now, lights strung up in the wide, tiled corridor, the distant sound of the fountain swallowed by music.  Above the entrance, hung from the vaulted ceiling in front of Valmont is a mobile of lighted silver and gold stars with the moon glowing in the center.

Honestly, you need to stop and gawk for a second, because it’s gorgeous.

Eventually you start walking again, pulling your gaze down so you don’t go smacking face-first into someone.  Your feet, almost as if working independent of your brain, almost go past the gallery, until a hand catches your arm.

“Shh!”  Sera orders as she yanks you back against the wall, partially hidden by a column that frames the entry into a shop.

Blinking, snapping back into focus, you realize you’re across from the gallery, which is much quieter tonight.  You don’t even see anyone in there, at the moment.

“I didn’t say anything.”  You point out with a smile, and get a little scowl, “Okay, so, what’s the plan?”

“The plan is I go in an’ take pictures, an’ you distract _her_.”  Sera declares, voice firm.  “Say smart stuff.  Ask’er to explain the pictures, I don’t care, just keep movin’ so I can get as many as we can.  Then we out this fucker as a fake Fen’harel, right?”

“Wait, I have to distract her?”  You ask, glancing at the sparse, minimalist gallery, “And who’s her?”

Sera looks ready to answer, but abruptly she clams up, staring over your shoulder with a scowl.  You’re ready to turn around, when an unknown male voice speaks up from behind you, amused and with a faint accent.

“This sounds like a good time.  Here, here, just follow my lead.”

You find your arm abruptly being taken in a light grip, tugging you away from the wall.  You step after it, but quickly free yourself, finding yourself face to face with the elven man you saw at the cafe.  As you pull back, he offers his arm to you a bit more politely, and lifts a brow.

“We don’t have all night, they close in a half hour.”  He asks, while you and Sera stare at him.  A long finger taps his chin thoughtfully, and then he gives a faint ‘ah’.  “You wanted to get our story straight?”

“No…”  You say, tilting your head to the side, “What do you want?”

“To help.”  He says simply, smile broadening to a cocksure grin, “It sounds like a worthy cause.”

 

* * *

 

**Er, sure?  A little backup might be nice.**

 

You barely have time to say it before your arm gets swept up again.  A glance over your shoulder as you’re led to the gallery meets Sera’s confused, squinted gaze.  You manage a one-shouldered shrug before you’re over the threshold, blinking in the sudden glare of the bright gallery lights.

“Look, they have pamphlets.”  The strange man declares, reaching for one from a small table inside the door, shaking it open.  “Hmmh…hmmh…”

You’re curious, but the paintings have you drawn in, gaze pulled to the nearest one.  They’re very striking, bold lines and saturated colors, very crisp and powerful.  As near as you can tell, they look like the work you’re familiar with, albeit on canvas and not walls.

But then again, you’re no expert.

“Fascinating stuff…”  Your apparent partner in crime declares, and then abruptly flings the unfolded pamphlet back on the table.  “Complete and utter nonsense.”

Puzzled, you glance over again, but before you can manage to say anything, another voice speaks up.

“What an interesting statement.”

From the other side of a wall in the middle of the gallery, a woman comes into view, hands folded at her waist.  She walks in a way that makes you awkwardly aware of the defects in your posture, regal and measured, a smile on her face.

“Oh, well, no offense meant, but it’s a bit of a fairy tale, not history.”  The man declares, abruptly stepping forward, his arm in yours dragging you forward, “Fen’harel suddenly fashionable with the corners whittled off, everybody cheers.  That whole scene was just a _disaster_.  No holding hands singing songs of the people.”

“Sometimes history needs a bit of guidance.  Do not underestimate the power of fashion.  Sometimes the moral needs changing as time passes.”  The woman says, and then stops his forward advance with an extended hand, “Vivienne.  Welcome to my gallery.”

You are _so_ in over your head.

 

* * *

 

 

**A pleasure to meet you.  Have you met the artist?**

 

“Fen’harel is notoriously private.”  Vivienne says, with a small smile for you, “His contact is through the Valmont family, who have chosen to patronize him for his return to the public eye.”

“I was always under the impression…”  You say, remembering Sera’s injunction to ‘sound smart’, “That it was the name for a collective of people, not one individual.”

A small squeeze on your arm might be approval,or it might be a warning, because your still-nameless companion starts walking.  You keep pace, feeling yourself actually falling into a rhythm of sorts.  This is actually kind of…

Fun?

“A common misconception.”  Vivienne says, joining you as you all come to a pause in front of a long painting on the rightmost wall, “In those days, it was a convenient ruse that kept the authorities from hunting for an individual to blame.”

“How exciting!  Man on the run, hunting for justice in the seedy underbelly of the city.”  The tall elven man says, playing it so earnest you can’t even find a hint of sarcasm in it, “Fighting the system.  You know, this one would look excellent in the upstairs bathroom, darling.”

Somehow…somehow, you manage not to start laughing out loud.  It’s almost a physical pain in the back of your sinuses as you swallow it.

 

* * *

 

**Don’t be ridiculous, you _just_ bought a new painting for the bathroom, dear.**

 

“No, no, I meant one of the other bathrooms, dearest.  Don’t be silly, who has only one bathroom?”  He corrects you, the smile on his face turning slightly sly.

A little break in the mask, acknowledging the joke.  Okay, good, you’re not actually supposed to act like an insufferable idiot.  That’s good, you don’t watch nearly enough reality TV to pull that off.

“I am so sorry, he’s ridiculous.”  You apologize to Vivienne, who is watching you with a completely unruffled expression, “I can’t take him anywhere.”

“You’re ruining it.  I bet she thought I was almost serious.”  He says, with a note of complaint, “Anyways, this one is entirely out of character.  Look at the composition.”

You end up being tugged along again, which by now you realize is counter-clockwise around the room.  Right.  Probably giving Sera time to work on the other side of the wall.  

“Out of character?  I do understand what you mean, of course, but art does evolve over time.”  Vivienne says, the sharp click of her heels following you, “I would be delighted to hear your reasoning.”

“Don’t mind me, I’m an eternal critic.  The old guard’s a bit up in arms over this, thought I’d come take a look for myself.”  Your companion declares, eyes narrowing as he pauses in front of another painting.  “What do you think about all that noise about it being a forgery cash grab?”

Ouch.  Blunt.  You try not to wince too obviously.

“I place my trust in the Valmont family.”  Vivienne says smoothly, with just a hint of cultured humor, “The doubt and disdain was wholly anticipated.  Negative publicity has never been a concern of Fen’harel.”

“Now that, that is true!”  He laughs, and then gestures to a painting on the south wall, wandering that way, “This is a near-perfect copy of the piece that was up at Fifth at that deli that got painted over.   Place went out of business from the outrage.”

“You seem to know a great deal.”  Vivienne says, “If you would like a proper press tour and interview, you should contact the office beforehand.  The deception is wholly unnecessary.”

“Aaaah, she got me.”  He sighs, glancing over at you and shaking his head, “Cover’s blown.”

“It was ‘blown’ the instant you arrived.”  Vivienne says, and then gives a faint sigh and gestures around the corner, “If you are going to critique and dig for soundbites, you could at least take a glance at the pièce de résistance , my dear.”

“You’re too kind to a humble muckraker, Madame.”  He says, with a little reassuring grin aside at you.

You glance over your shoulder as Vivienne turns the corner, and gesture quickly as you catch Sera peeking around the corner.  How she’s going to get back out, you’re not sure, but hey…

Things are going…well?

Maybe?

 

* * *

 

 

**We can at least try to keep talking.  There’s got to be something we can ask her to help Sera out…**

 

You take a minute to think, following along as Vivienne leads the way to a long canvas hanging on the far left wall.  It’s pretty, you suppose.  In the same style as everything else, spare and crisply striking in its use of angular lines and symbolism.  And yet, like most of the other paintings…it’s really just not drawing you in.

There’s something about it that just seems…purposeless, captured on canvas and pinned to a wall.

“I just don’t understand what he’s trying to say.”  You abruptly say, interrupting a conversation between the other two.  They both glance at you, and you quickly add a flustered, “Sorry.”

“Yay, capitalism.”  The elven man deadpans, and then smiles at the slight lift of Vivienne’s brows, “Well, the complete lack of artists’ statement, and the excess of available paintings…”

“He’s always had opinions.  That was the entire driving force  _behind_ his art.”  You agree, hoping you sound like you know what you’re talking about, “This just all seems…”

“Times change, as I said before.”  Vivienne says as you trail off, as unreadable as ever.

Could it be she doesn’t really believe it either?

“An interview would clear things up, wouldn’t it?  I mean, like you said, times change.”  You say, fixing your gaze on the painting, feeling both sets of eyes on you as you bullshit merrily along, “Who is it that keeps in contact with him?  Are they willing to pass on messages?”

“I run the gallery, my dear, I could hardly tell you any of that.”  Vivienne says, hands folding at her waist.

A brief bit of movement out of the corner of your eye draws your gaze, and you glance over just in time to see Sera darting out of the gallery.  You almost missed her yourself, but you feel the hand on your arm tighten in a subtle squeeze.

“If, however, you wished to find that out for yourself, you would want to contact Florianne de Chalons’ office, at the corporate headquarters.”  Vivienne finally finishes, before giving a long sigh, “Well, may I consider your curiosity sufficiently satiated?”

 

* * *

 

 

**Let’s get out of here, find Sera, and interrogate this guy.  Who the heck is he, and what does he want?**

 

Being pleasant and gracious and all, you say your goodbyes and leave the gallery with your _still_ nameless fake boyfriend or whatever he was pretending to be.  You still don’t know.  The narrative changed a couple times in there, and you’re not even sure the journalist part _was_ another lie.

But dammit, you’re about to find out.

Sera is standing down a little ways, waiting impatiently when you leave the gallery.  The instant you do, she waves wildly at you, as if you weren’t already going to make a beeline for her.  You feel the loosening of the man’s grip, but this time you hang on, and drag him after you.  He gives a little laugh when you start hauling him along, not seeming at all flustered.

“Okay, I’m sorry, but just who the hell are you?”  You demand, stopping in front of Sera.

She glowers, nodding her head as she squints up at him.  You release his arm and turn to face him, arms crossing over your chest.  He just grins, not looking at all worried or apologetic.

“Does it matter?”  He asks, and then laughs at the glares that gets him, “What can I say, I always wanted to be part of a caper.”

“Right.”  Sera says sarcastically, scowl deepening.

“My name…is Felassan.  And…it’s been a pleasure.”  He says, and then abruptly steps around you both, continuing down the corridor, “Call me!  We’ll do it again some time!”

“Hey wait!”  You say, scowling as he picks up his pace, “Sera!”

“Leave ‘im.”  Sera says dismissively, shaking her head, “Weirdo.  Listen, we got what we needed, and that’s what matters.  Let’s get out of here and sort through it.”

Torn, you watch him disappear around a corner.  You could go after him, or you could go with Sera…or you could go see Solas like you’d been thinking about earlier.  Or someone else.

 

* * *

 

 

**I’m sure you’ve got it handled, Sera.  I was planning to go somewhere else after.**

 

“Well, yeah I got it, but…”  Sera starts, with a puzzled half smile that quickly fades.  She rolls her shoulders back, the smile fading to a disinterested look, voice tense, “Right, whatever.”

“Are you mad at me?”  You ask, uncertainly, “I mean, you’re just going to try and find someone to show the pictures to, right?”

“I’m not…”  Sera says, stopping for a second and then sighing, “Maybe a little.  Or something.  I don’t know.”  

“We see each other a lot, Sera.  I know I’ve been kind of…”

“It’s stupid.  Ignore it.  Me.  Okay?”  Sera interrupts, giving you a smile that seems genuine, “I’m a little jealous, but it’s stupid.  Forget you’re a person, I been pushin’ you around so much.”

“I let you.”  You remind her, relieved that she’s relaxed.

It’s true, you have been for a while.  But you were completely new, and didn’t know anyone at all.  It was just easy to follow along behind Sera, do whatever she wanted to do.  

“Okay, go away.”  She orders you, giving you a small push on the arm, “Do your…thing.  I’ll email you anything that looks weird.  Don’t forget that Florianne whatsit.  Smart move, that.”

“Thanks.  Okay.  I’ll see you later.”  You promise, taking a step back.

She returns your smile, and then abruptly turns on her heel and plods off rapidly, leaving you alone.  You aren’t sure if you stepped in it or not, but she doesn’t seem angry.  You’ll talk to her tomorrow, everything will be fine.

Sure.  Everything’s fine.

Turning around, you head off as well, in the opposite direction.  As always, you’re a little bit torn about where to go, but your feet seem to be taking you back to where they have over and over again.  You turn the corner, and start up the wide main throughfare, the roar of the fountain filling your ears as you head past it.

It’s been long enough, hasn’t it?

On the way, you pull out your cellphone and shoot a quick text to Isabela, asking if she’s gotten into any bar fights tonight.  Casual, joking, just enough to be…

“Don’t look now, but I think I’m being followed!”  A suspiciously familiar voice abruptly says off to your left, dragging you from your watching and second-guessing of the text message.

You stop, glancing up, and realize that you’re standing in front of Solas’ shop.  Gaze shifting down from the sign, you lock eyes with a slightly-puzzled Solas.  Slowly, your gaze pans to the left.

_Felassan._

“Well, I think that’s my cue to leave, Solas!”  He declares, only to stall as the other man reaches out, catching the sleeve of his jacket.  

Much to your surprise, Felassan actually seems nervous, giving a faint laugh and stopping immediately.  You squint at him, and he avoids your stare.

“Or not.”  He finishes, clearing his throat and reaching up to adjust his collar.  “So, we…apparently…all know each other.  How fun!”

“Suddenly, your story has gotten slightly more interesting.”  Solas informs him, and then shifts his gaze back to you, “Is everything all right?”

 

* * *

 

 

**Oh, there’s my fake husband.  I was wondering where he went.**

 

You watch as Solas sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with two fingers, setting his glasses askew.  Felassan clears his throat again, and then fixes his jacket as his sleeve is released.

“So…I’ll call you tomorrow about that business, huh?”  Felassan asks, stepping to the side and then heading towards you, for the front of the shop.

He seems to like his rapid getaways, doesn’t he?

“Goodbye, Felassan.”  Solas replies flatly, removing his glasses and cleaning them on the corner of his shirt, shaking his head.

“Bye sweetheart, I’ll see you at home.”  Felassan says to you dryly as he steps out past you, the humor in his voice gone.

You would reply, but the flat, almost dry words make you pause long enough that the moment passes.

Something about it sits oddly with you, but when you turn to watch him all you see is his retreating back.  Well.  At least he didn’t try to kiss your cheek or something?

“This night just keeps getting weirder, and weirder.”  You say, glancing back over at Solas, “Hi.  So.  How was your day?”

He laughs, tiredly, pulling his glasses back on and giving another small shake of his head.

“Less exciting than yours, it seems.  Espionage?”  He asks, turning for the counter.

“I’m helping Sera with something.  She’s really upset, the artist…”  You start, but pause when he starts nodding, “Not something I need to catch you up on?”

“I am aware of the situation.  Felassan enjoyed telling me the story.”  Solas says, lifting a hand, “Or at least…part of it.  Sera does not strike me as someone particularly interested in such things.”

Right, they know each other.  And…don’t like each other.  Or at least she doesn’t like him, you can’t really read Solas on it.

“The artist means a lot to her.  Fen’harel?  I know you mostly deal with old stuff, but…”

You trail off, awkwardly, into the silence, and then wait.  It’s only a couple seconds, but there’s so rarely pauses when you two speak that it stretches on longer than you’re expecting.

“I have heard the name.”  Solas says quietly.

 

* * *

 

 

**You seem tired.  Is everything okay?**

 

“I expect I seem tired because I am, in fact, tired.”  Solas says, a hint of humor in his wry voice,  “Nothing you need concern yourself over.”

“I did ask.”  You say, wandering a little further into the shop.

“And I am appreciative of that,”  Solas says, picking up a book off of the desk and turning it over in his hands, “but unless you can travel backwards in time and undo a restless night’s sleep, I fear there is little that can be done.”

You’re getting the feeling he’s freezing you out a little again.  Of course, you could go with the method you went with before, but maybe that isn’t necessary this time. Still, you wander over to one of the bookshelves, as much for your own enjoyment as to give you an excuse to stay.

Before you manage to think up something to say, he changes the subject.

“What do you plan to do with the acquired photographs, I wonder?”

“Sera’s going to find someone who can verify the signatures.  She thinks they’re fake.”  You explain, and he gives a faint ‘ah’ under his breath, “I was really just helping her.  It’s not really my fight, but she is my friend.”

“And if they are not proven to be forgeries, what will she do then?”

You turn to glance at him, pulling your gaze away from a series of Nevarran philosophy texts.  He meets your stare, blandly curious and expectant.

“Probably be really let down and disappointed in him, I’d think.”  You say, lifting your shoulders in a shrug. 

“Do you share her idealistic hopes?”  He asks, expression so bland that you find yourself hunting for something hiding under the surface.

You really can’t read him.  You wonder if he does that on purpose, or if it’s just habit.

“I think people need money to live?”  You say, turning your attention back to stamped leather spines, gathering your thoughts as you breathe in the scent of old books, “The curator just kept saying that times change.  And that’s true, and people change, but…”

 

* * *

 

 

**I’m just really disappointed.**

 

“Disappointed?”  Solas asks, sounding just a hint scornful for a second, “The situation is so black and white, then, that you can judge it so simply?”

“My high horse is in the shop.”  You reply deadpan, and then smile as he glances at you with a raised eyebrow, “It’s just a name, I know, but they…he or she or whoever…if they’re real, they have to know how much it means.”

When he does nothing but give a faint ‘hm’, you start to feel a little uneasy.  The sudden lack of conversation pulls your mind back to the gallery again, hunting for a way to untangle this weirdly complicated situation.

“It’s the silence, I guess.  How can you have a discussion with nothing?”  You finally say as you remember those paintings, and the weird impression of nothingness they gave you.  Just pretty pictures.  “Let’s say there is a Fen’harel, the same guy.  He’s not saying anything, and the art isn’t either.  I could tell even the curator thought so.”

“And you think if he said anything, people would listen?”

“I think the people that care, would.  People obviously care.”  You say, and then shake your head, “It doesn’t work, it doesn’t fit.  Something just feels off about all of it.“

“You are correct.  If there is indeed a person behind the name, that puts a different complexion on their interaction with the world…or lack thereof, in this case.”  Solas says, sounding more relaxed, “But it also makes them fallible, and not simply a symbol.  A person capable of making mistakes, or missteps.”

You turn to face him, crossing your arms over your chest as he leans against the counter.  Sometimes talking to him sounds like a test, which you’re not totally sure if you like or not.  It’s nice being challenged, you suppose, but at times it’s like he’s looking for something.

You take a second, and gather your thoughts again.

“Then why stay silent?”  You ask, eyes still locked on his, “When the art was doing the talking, the silence meant something, right?  Now, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I suspect you would have to ask him.”  Solas says simply.

You’re beginning to realize he just sucked you right in with that whole devil’s advocate thing, didn’t he?  This was just about helping Sera, and now you’re having philosophical discussions about…what?  Artistic integrity?

 

* * *

 

 

**Then maybe I will.  Why not?  It’s worth a try.**

 

 

“You are an interesting woman.”  Solas says, a sardonic hint of humor to the smile that suddenly breaks through the bland facade.

“And I’m starting to think you just like wriggling into people’s brains and turning them inside out.”  You accuse.

He laughs at that, and you feel whatever tension you were holding from the sort of intense conversation melt away.  After a couple seconds you’re forced to laugh a little yourself, shaking your head.

“You may be correct.”  He finally acknowledges with one last chuckle, “Thank you for indulging me.”

“I still want to know what the heck is up with that guy.”  You say, wandering towards the counter as he turns to step around it.

“Felassan?  He acquires things for me from time to time, and has a very strange sense of humor.”  Solas says, leafing through a pile of papers.

“So he’s not a reporter.  Of course he’s not.”  You say, claiming his earlier spot, leaning against the edge of the counter.  “Why did he seem to know so much about Fen’harel?”

“He has an interest in art, I believe.”  Solas replies absent-mindedly, “ I am going to be closing up in a moment.”

It’s a bit abrupt, but when you glance at the clock you realize it’s getting a little late.  Not late late, like late night, but mall late, past eight.

 

* * *

 

 

**That’s too bad, I’ve got a few arguments left in me.  Want to get a drink?**

 

“Thank you for the offer,”  Solas says, with a faint smile, “but I fear I am a bit too tired for any excursions this evening.”

Disappointing, but completely understandable.  It doesn’t feel like an excuse, at least.  Hopefully he’d be up front with you.  Hey, at least he knows you’re interested now in spending more time with him, right?

“Of course.  Not a problem.”  You say, taking a step back, “I’ll let you close up.  Have a good night, and I hope you manage to get some sleep.”

“Good night.”  He says, giving a small nod that you offer right back before turning to leave.

The mall’s still surprisingly busy, you realize as you head for the entrance to the quiet, comfortable shop, but people seem to be getting ready to leave or on their way out.  Next week starts the later holiday hours.  You’re in the middle of fishing out your phone, when you hear him speak up from behind you again.

“Friday?”  He asks simply.

Back to him, you smile to yourself, slipping your phone out of your pocket.  You’re about to respond when you remember your schedule.  Right. Thursday and Friday you’re stuck with the evening shift.

“I work until ten.”  You say, apologetically.

“I am not _that_ old.”  He retorts with a sardonic half-smile.

After a moment’s silence, biting on the inside of your lip to try and fight back the grin, you extend your phone to him expectantly.

 

 

 

You don’t have time to do much, unless you wanted to go to the bar again.  Buses only run until midnight, and you have your budget on your mind, especially with having to grocery shop and pick up your car tomorrow.

Still, you have the day off tomorrow, and can sleep in.

 

* * *

 

 

**Crap, wasn’t I going to take picture of my floor for the guy at the hardware store?  Let’s go home and do that.**

 

The bus ride is quiet tonight, and it gives you a brief moment to send some texts.  Isabela hasn’t responded to you, but it hasn’t been that long since you texted her.  You shoot off a quick text to Sera, and while you’re waiting for a response, text Solas just to make sure he has your number.

He responds a bit quicker.  Probably finishing closing up.

 

 

When you get off the bus, still no other responses, but you’re a woman on a mission.  There’s just some junk mail waiting for you in the lobby, and you grab it on your way up.  It goes right in the trash when you get into your apartment.  Now’s probably not the time to be getting credit cards.

The floor under the cabinets is your goal, and you brush away the few crumbs tucked under the edge before getting in to take pictures.  First you just snap the damage, then you pull up the edges as best you can to get pictures of the floor underneath.  It’s kind of hard, and you damage the linoleum a bit more in the process, but you’re not bothered.  It’s junk anyways.  Weird yellow-orange with giant tacky flowers.  Yuck.

Once you’ve gotten a few shots you think are decent, you dig the card out of your purse and head over to your computer to send off the email.  It’s late, but maybe he’ll look at it tomorrow before you’re done picking up your car.  That way you can save yourself a trip.

 

While you’re working on attaching the pictures, your phone buzzes noisily.  Sera’s texted you back.

 

 

 

 

 

Feeling a bit better about ditching Sera, you spend the evening studying up on the mysterious artist- if they even actually exist.  Between bouts of laundry and some cleaning up the kitchen and remaking your bed, you manage to at least feel like you’re on the same page with everyone else in regards to this guy.

You still can’t find any of his work that looks as if it were copied directly from the work that Felassan pointed out.  Fen’harel has a very distinctive style, very clean and bold, angular lines and lots of symbolism.  People have spent papers dissecting what pieces there are actually photos of, and the few preserved pieces.  

It’s like night and day, really.  The paintings in the gallery were beautiful, of course they were, but they weren’t meant for canvasses.  They were meant to be across walls, towering over people, taking up space.  They’re murals, meant to be walked along, seen piece by piece.  They make more sense in the large scale, even only captured in photographs.

But they look right to you.  They look like they were made by the same person.  Then again, you’re not studying art.  That’s why Sera has ‘people’.

The person themselves, again, if he exists, is interesting.  The stories sound more like myth than truth.  Stories about a ‘safe house’ covered inside and out with the artwork of a hundred angry protesters.  Stories about him breaking into sites and destroying his own artwork when he heard they were going to try and preserve it.

Stories about him being jailed and then disappearing in the morning, leaving the cops baffled.

Those you’re pretty sure are fake.

At least there’d be a mugshot, and no one has ever claimed to have seen his face, or even spoken to him.  Weird.

More confused than ever, but with a better idea of the scope of it all, you finish tidying up and head to bed.

Tomorrow’s another day.

 

Before you drift off, you take a minute to decide what you’ll do first thing tomorrow.

 

##  **End of Day 3**


	4. Wednesday, 30th of Harvestmere

**Let's head in to check in on the car.  They didn’t give a time, just a date.**

 

It’s a pretty nice day today, but still cold.  Maybe a bit too early for snow, but in a week or two it wouldn’t be surprising.  Sleeping in a little feels good, but you’re looking forward to getting your car back again.  Like it has been, almost day by day, the crowds seem to have been growing incrementally.

It’s ten in the morning in the middle of the week, and the parking lot at the mall is over half full.

You’re not heading for the mall, though, but for Chargers’.  Their lot is marked off from the rest, a few cars parked.  One of them, happily, appears to be yours.  You hope that means it’s done, and not that it hasn’t been touched yet.  But they have your number, so you’d think if it was going to be late, they’d call you.

You head around the side of the plain, blocky building, and in through the glass front doors with a noisy chime.  The smell of grease and metal hits your nose immediately, but the front office is fairly pristine.  There’s no one up front, just a few chairs, a water cooler, and a television blaring away.

You head up to the front counter, peering in through the open door behind it into the garage beyond.  Loud music is on full blast, and you can hear the clink of tools and sounds of what you think are conversation.  

You’re tempted to poke your head in, but there’s a bell on the counter, and you figure you might as well use it.  Except, when you hit it, it buzzes loudly out in the garage.

Okay, well, that’s probably easier to hear.

“Hang on a second!”  A gruff voice calls.

“Sure, no problem!”  You call back.

It takes a minute or two, but you check your phone for messages and listen to the television blaring.  Sounds like it’s going to be clear weather for the rest of the week, which means it’s going to stay around freezing.

“Hey…” 

You pull your attention away from your phone, and glance up into a friendly, grinning face.  For some reason, you have the feeling this must be the Bull Varric mentioned.  The horns kinda give it away.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up my car.”  You say, glancing over your shoulder towards the doors, “I saw it out in the lot, I’m hoping that’s good news.”

“Yeah…about that…”  He replies, and then chuckles, “For now.  It’s good news…for now.  As in you can drive it and it runs.”

“And then there’s a giant but, isn’t there?”  You sigh, closing your eyes, “How disastrous is it?”

“It’s really not that bad, you don’t have to get all worked up.”  He says, deep voice reassuring but amused, “You need to replace those tires, and you need a new battery.  They’re both pretty important.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Well, shit.  I’m really on a budget.  What do you recommend?**

“I _recommend_ you replace them.  Which will run you about five hundred fifty, six hundred bucks.”  Bull replies flatly, and then grins when you groan in defeat, “Okay, okay.  Listen.  That battery will leave you stranded somewhere praying for a jump.  But it snows, those tires aren’t doing shit for you.  It doesn’t snow, I suppose you could push them for a while.”

You don’t normally go off on a swearing spree, but right now you’re sure feeling like it.  You need your car, for school at the very least.  Spending hours a day commuting between school and work come spring on the bus sounds like torture.

You could do it, but it’d be a real pain.

“And the battery would run me…?”  You sigh, glancing up hopefully and managing a weak smile, “Please tell me there’s like a…pathetic student discount or something?”

“Hey, _hey_ , don’t start the waterworks.”  Bull warns, and then gives a small grunt under his breath, “Enh.  Listen, maybe I could replace it with a reconditioned battery for you instead of a new one, but there’s really nothing I can do about the tires…”

“Nothing?”  You ask hopefully, tilting your head, well aware you’re probably pushing your luck.

But damn it, this was not an expense you needed right now.  And around the holidays, too!  It seems like you’re getting through to him, though, because the frown is turning uncertain as you keep up the big-eyed pathetic hopefulness.

“Well…”

“Chief!”

The shout comes from just beyond the door, followed by the man himself, frowning darkly.  You might be more intimidated if he didn’t have a smear of grease on the end of his nose.  That and the faint smile you beam at him gets rid of the frown almost immediately.

“I didn’t even do anything yet!”  Bull protests, throwing up his hands, “At least wait until I’ve done something to yell at me, Krem!  For fuck’s sake.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Oh, c’mon, we can trade discounts!  You guys like porn?**

 

“Well, hey…”  

“No.”  Krem interrupts, balling up a fist and punching Bull on the shoulder, “Not happening, Chief.”

Ouch.  Doesn’t look like they pull punches around here.  Then again, they both look like they can take a pretty hard punch.

Krem shoves Bull to the side with his shoulder, and leans down, pulling a pile of papers from under the desk.  

“Don’t bother asking him, he doesn’t know a damn thing.”  Krem confides to you, grabbing a pen, “Usually we try to keep him in the back.”

“You see the kind of shit I have to put up with?”  Bull complains, clapping Krem heavily on the shoulder as he turns for the back, “Give her fifteen!”

“Ten!”  Krem says irritably, and then sighs and crouches down to pull out a calculator, “So he said a reconditioned battery?”

“Yeah.  It’ll still work fine, right?”  You ask, and then add hesitantly, “How long do you think this will add to the pickup time?”

You were really counting on having your car this weekend, but…well, better that than to be stuck in the snow or dead or something, right?

“No warranty, but it’ll do the job.  An hour?  He’s probably already pulling it in.”  Krem replies, and then adds apologetically, hair falling into his face as he glances up, “I can stop the tires, but we can do a payment plan.”

Payment plan.  Okay, whew.  That’s something, at least.  And with a discount, even if it’s just ten percent, that’s way better than nothing.  You’ve got the money for the initial repairs, and you can probably do the first payment now.

Things will be tight, but you’ll live.

“So that was four hundred for the alternator, and then three ninety six for the tires and the battery…”  Krem mutters.

He’s talking to himself, as he writes out the paperwork, which is all that keeps you from interrupting him.  That’s…a lot less than Bull said before.  After a couple seconds, you decide maybe not saying that is the smartest way to go.

Don’t want to jinx it.  It looks like he gave the full fifteen percent off, despite complaining about it.  That was nice of him.  They’ve been pretty damn generous, actually.

Much better than going to some chain.

“We can do a monthly.  Six months work for you?”  Krem asks, glancing up.  “I do all the books, so if you can’t do that we can figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

 

**I’ve the original four now, and a little bit more.  Six months is more than enough, but I assume it’s okay if I pay it off early?**

 

Four hundred anticipated dollars poorer, and four hundred future dollars left to pay, you officially have a newish battery and four brand new tires.  In…an hour.

Once you’ve signed everything and swiped your card for the first payment, Krem heads into the back again and leaves you to your own devices.  You put your things away and then pull our your phone to check it.  It looks like the time to be back at the shop is eleven thirty or so.  Just enough time to go grocery shopping and then have lunch afterwards.  Not too bad.

It’s really nice of them to finish fixing your car now.

You notice, when you turn on your phone, that you have two new texts waiting for you.  Isabela finally got back to you, and…Carver.  Hm.  What could he want?

We should probably check our messages, and…

 

* * *

 

 

**Go to the coffee shop and get donuts for the guys here.  They really didn’t have to do this for you, and you can afford it considering how generous they were.**

  
Twenty bucks is a lot cheaper than two hundred, you decide, and you really do want to express your gratitude.  The coffee shop isn’t a long walk, and if it was, there’s one in the opposite direction that’s about equidistant.  It’s hard to be far from a coffee shop in the city.

This one just has a better selection.

You duck inside and breathe in coffee and sugar, waiting in the short line as you fiddle with your phone.  

 

 

Oh!  Well, that’s a nice surprise.  You didn’t know Sera and Isabela knew each other.  Or, at least Isabela knows who she is.  Still, you’re a little curious if she was going to invite you or not.  Probably too late to ask now.

You open Carver’s message, but then you’re up at the counter, and the girl behind it is staring at you expectantly.  You put away your phone, fishing out your wallet as you turn your attention up to the sign.

“I’ll get two dozen, mixed.”  You order, and then turn your attention towards the drinks.

A little caffeine would probably be nice.

 

* * *

 

 

**And a coffee.  Black.**

 

Sure you’re saving money, but hey, a black coffee’s like a buck and a half, and it does a whole lot of good.  You head over to the register after confirming her donut picks, and pay for the lot.  All in all, a fairly painless transaction.  While you’re waiting for her to box them up, you check the message for Carver.

Ah, okay, that makes sense.  He doesn’t know what to get Bethany for the holiday, and wants some help.  That’s pretty sweet of him.

You’ll answer him soon, because there’s two boxes and a cup waiting for you now.  

Tucking your phone back away, you pick up the boxes with one hand, bracing them against your shoulder, and grab the coffee with the other.  Thankfully it’s not a long walk.

There’s no one at the counter when you head back into the shop, fingertips stinging from a couple spilled drops of coffee.  The boxes slide from your arm onto the counter, and you hit the buzzer again.

“Hang on, I’m coming, I’m…”  You hear Bull call, stopped as he walks through the door and shifts his attention down to you.

“I got donuts.  To say thank you.”  You explain.

“Well, hey, thanks.  Guys will really appreciate it.”  Bull says.

 

* * *

 

 

 **The discount’s will be waiting for you if you want it.  Don’t worry, I won’t tell Krem.**

 

“Thanks.  Appreciate that.”  Bull says, a little bit hesitantly, “But…you work at Kitty’s place?  Across the street.  Or some other place?”

“Yep.”  You say, pulling the lid off of your coffee and blowing across from it.

“Yeah…she kinda creeps me out.”  Bull admits, grinning when you laugh in surprise, “I’m not saying no, just saying I probably won’t come by while she’s there.”

“Creeps you out?”  You ask, still laughing, “Really?”

“Hah!  Let’s just say she’s…something else.”  He says dryly, flipping open one of the boxes and examining the contents, “Anything more might be too incriminating.”

“Well, I can agree with you on that.”  You say, taking a tentative sip of your coffee, “But she treats us pretty well.”

“Yeah, because she doesn’t want in your pants.”  He says dryly, picking out a jelly donut.  “Trust me, that’s for the best.”

You feel your phone buzz, but leave it where it is, at least for now.  Probably just Carver again, he can be kind of impatient.  You’ll get back to him when you have a chance.

 

* * *

 

 

**I need a way to let you know she’s not around, y’know.  Hint hint.**

 

 

“Pretty sure she doesn’t work close.”  Bull replies, so blandly that you’re not sure if he actually got what you were going for or not, “You don’t want to know how I know that.”

Damn.  Well, hey, it was worth a shot, right?  It seems like it went right over his head…maybe.  You really didn’t think you were being that subtle.  If his was a hint right back, you might as well take it.  No point being rude.

“I don’t either.  I mean, close is midnight, and she doesn’t feel comfortable with that.”  You say, taking another sip of your coffee, listening to the symphony of noise coming from the garage.

“Yeah?  I wouldn’t figure she cared that much.  Good on her, I guess.”

“I didn’t expect it myself, but she’s decent about it.”  You say, musingly, “And the lady who works next door keeps an eye on us…it’s actually pretty nice.  I work late Thursday and Friday, and I’ve been annoyed and creeped on, but never actually felt in any danger.”

Which is true, but also…bear mace under the counter goes a long way towards making you feel safe.  And Tor, the guy who closes might be lazy as hell, but he’s huge.  Nobody really causes any trouble with Tor around.

“You can’t ask for better than that, really.”  Bull says, glancing over his shoulder towards the garage, “I’ll take these back for the guys and check on your car.  Shouldn’t be too long.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”  You say, and then finally reach for your phone as he heads into the back.

Huh.  The other text wasn’t from Carver, but from a number you don’t recognize.  Weird.  Might be a wrong number?

 

* * *

 

 

**Check this mystery text.**

 

** **

 

Oh whew.  You already know it must be, as you have both of the twins’ numbers.  The text you receive only confirms it, and you quickly get the rest of the information afterwards.  It seems they’re getting together next weekend.  You haven’t exactly decided to crash what sounds like a family get-together, but you at least can confirm you’ve gotten the information.

Yet again, you’re struck by how nice it is of Bethany to just invite you like that.

With that settled, you open the text from Carver again and start responding.

 

 

So, one Hawke asking for a favor, one Hawke doing you a favor.  That family is kind of all over the place, aren’t they?  But hey, if you’re stuck here for a holiday alone, they kind of seem like they’ll welcome you in.  That’s nice.

The rest of your time passes pretty quickly, and before you know it, your car is ready to be picked up.  Unexpected repairs aside, that went pretty well.

 

* * *

 

 

**Hardware store, and _then_ grocery shopping.**

 

You haven’t had an answer from Mr. Blackwall, but the hardware store is right there, and you can always show him the pictures on your phone if you need to.  It doesn’t necessarily mean he hasn’t checked the email, he didn’t seem super comfortable with technology.  Again, as you approach the store, you’re struck by just how pretty the handmade furniture out front is.

Not fancy, but simply graceful and polished silky smooth until it’s gleaming, the uncovered grain of the wood used shown to its best advantage.  

The front door opens under your shoulder as you slip in, still musing over Hawke’s message.  Would it be strange to intrude on a family celebration?  Bethany did invite you, and Hawke didn’t seem like they were upset by it.  You’ll have to figure out if you want to go soon- no point in making them wait for an answer.

When you enter, Blackwall is standing in the middle of the floor with his back to you, hands on his hips.  When the door shuts he glances over his shoulder at you, brow furrowed deeply.

“Something wrong?”  You ask.

He gives a heavy sigh, and then turns back again.  You notice there’s a cardboard box at his feet as you approach.  Oh.  Holiday decorations.  Not a lot of them.

“Don’t really see the point in decorating the store.”  He says, tilting his chin up to stare at the ceiling, “Miss Josephine and Leliana brought by some things, but it’s not as if people come here to do holiday shopping, is it?”

Leliana!  You met her, and that’s right, you remember she knows the mysterious Miss Josephine from the chocolate shop.  

“Not really a problem that deserves this amount of contemplation, is it?”  You tease, and he gives a small gruff laugh, dark frown easing, “I think people just like seeing holiday things around.  You could just decorate the front counter, not the whole store?”

“Now why didn’t I think of that?”  He asks, the last of the frown disappearing, “I didn’t want to disappoint the young ladies, but I didn’t quite know what to do with it all.”

 

* * *

 

 

**I don’t know.  Did you make that furniture out front?  If so, I’d say you have a good eye.**

 

“I did.”  He says, acknowledging it with a nod, “And that’s kind of you to say.  Just a hobby, but I sell a piece every now and again.”

He bends down to pick up the cardboard box, and then turns for the front counter.  You trail after him, considering that thoughtfully.

“It might be just a hobby, but it really is beautiful.  Just sticking it out front of the door can’t get you many sales, though.”  You say, pausing in front of the counter as he steps around it.  “You could put it on your website, couldn’t you?  Or make one just for your woodworking?”

“You sound like Miss Josephine.”  He accuses, humor in his voice, “Seems a bit too complicated for my taste.  I appreciate the faith in my abilities.”

“I don’t know that it’s faith, I have seen it for myself.”  You point out.

“That’s a fair point.”  He says with a nod, setting the box down on the counter.  “Now.  Have you got yourself a hair dryer at home?”

Okay, well, that wasn’t exactly the question you were expecting, now was it?

 

* * *

 

 

**Why, looking to borrow it?**

 

 

“What?”  He asks blankly, and then laughs after a couple of seconds of silence pass, “Oh!  No, no.  For your floor.”

“For…my floor.”  You repeat slowly.

“It helps peel up the linoleum without damaging it.  You warm it up and it’ll pull back easier.”  He explains, still chuckling a bit, “Looks like your subfloor is doing all right, should be able to glue it back down.”

“And that’s cheap?”  You ask hopefully, with a faint smile, “Because I just had to buy a new battery and four new tires on top of replacing my alternator, and I’m running kind of low.”

Maybe kind of bad to bring it up, but heck, you got fifteen percent off at the mechanic.  Might as well use the sob story in the hopes of saving a bit.

“New tires?  You are having a rough time of it, aren’t you?”  He asks, giving a slow shake of his head, “It won’t cost you too much.  You’re going to need to clean up the linoleum and subfloor, spread that adhesive, and then weight it down for a while.”

“That’s it?”  You ask, relieved.  That doesn’t sound too bad at all.

“That’s about it, if you’ve got a rolling pin or something, roll it along to make sure there’s no bubbles or extra adhesive.  Make sure you weight it good, though, or that edge is going to curl right back up.”  He says, lecturing gruffly.  “But if you have any more problems, you should probably call your landlord.”

“Okay, okay.”  You sigh, grinning as his eyebrows lower.  “I _probably_ won’t try to fix the plumbing or anything.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”  He says dryly.

 

* * *

 

 

**I’m independent, but not that dumb.  Fixing flooring’s different than flooding an apartment.**

“Sensible.”  Blackwall declares, pulling a bag out from under the counter.  “Now, you’ve got everything you need right here.”

“Wow, you were all prepared for me.”  You say, examining the small tub he pulls out of the bag, “So that’s the glue?”

“Adhesive, yes.  You just spread it on with this putty knife here.  Like I said before, weight it well and it should stay down.”  He says, pulling out a long, thin metal implement.

You suppose it sort of looks like a knife.  Well, one more thing for your toolbox.  Or at least your junk drawer.

“Sounds pretty simple.”  You confirm, nodding as he puts them away, “Is there anything else I should be looking for, or…”

“I suppose that depends.  Getting pretty cold out there.  How do your windows do at keeping in heat?”  He asks, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he reaches up to scratch his bearded jaw.  “If it’s an older building, you might need some weather stripping.  You notice a draft, it might save you some money on heat in the long run.”

“I’ll check.  Couldn’t hurt, right?”  You say, fishing out your card.

“Couldn’t hurt.”  Blackwall agrees.

 

* * *

 

 

**Let’s pay and say goodbye so we can hit the grocery store.**

 

Continuing today’s theme of being disgustingly responsible and adult, you pay the surprisingly small bill and express your appreciation before heading off.  He really is a helpful guy.  And not condescending about it, which is really nice.

Then, you get in your car.

The bus will always be there for you, when you’re drunk, or when you don’t want to waste the gas, but now you have your vehicle again.  And, when you turn the key, the engine turns over right away instead of taking its sweet time.  You assume that’s what the new battery was all about.

Bidding farewell to mall and bus, you head to the grocery store near your house.  Getting this all out of the way now means you’ll be able to do whatever you want this weekend.

It’s not super busy, it’s noon on a Wednesday after all.  You join the moms and dads, and a few elderly people in their shopping.  By now the holiday music’s so omnipresent that you find yourself humming along with it.

The grocery store is mid-sized, but urban enough that there’s a decent selection of pre-made food and upscale nibbles.  They also sell wine and beer, but no liquor.

You get paid on Friday, and you have about 300 available in your account right now, not counting the rent you need to pay tomorrow.  The first chunk of car repairs came out of your savings, which is severely depleted after paying first and last on your apartment, and moving here to the city.  

That three hundred bucks is about all you’ve got.

 

* * *

 

 

**Super cheap, but we know how to cook.  Dry rice and beans, some bulk protein, frozen veggies, eggs, things like that.  It takes longer to make, but we can feed ourselves for a month with the occasional extra grocery visit.  (-75$)**

 

Skipping the pizza and sodium flavored noodles, you go for the stuff that’s going to last you a while.  Splurging a bit on spices means it’ll still taste good, and your pots and pans you forced yourself to lug along won’t sit forlornly in your cabinets.

It’s a bigger amount of groceries, so after you pay, you take the cart with you back to the car.  It’s nice to have this all out of the way- it’s only noon and you’ve already accomplished everything you set out to do.  A wide open second half of the week awaits you.

Well, apart from the floor repairs.

Feeling pleased with yourself, you unload the groceries and slam the trunk of your car closed, turning to return the cart to the front of the store.  Still humming the last holiday song you heard inside, you don’t notice something has gotten caught under the wheels of your cart until you try to push it up the curb and it sticks.

Blinking, you pull back and realize a mangled cardboard box has gotten all twisted up.  It’s wet and falling apart, but you manage to tug it free with a little work.  It looks like just some discarded trash, but when you shake it out, you realize at some point someone had written ‘Free Kittens’ on the front of it.

Okay, that’s shitty.  Leaving kittens in a grocery store parking lot?  Hopefully someone grabbed them, because this sure isn’t a safe place for animals.

 

* * *

 

 

**What the hell?  What kind of asshole leaves animals out in the cold?  Quick, we’d better start looking!**

 

In a bit of a panic, apparently, you still maintain the sense to ask an employee that steps outside if they’ve seen anything.  They just shrug at you, and go back to gathering up carts.

Okay, well, it looks like it’s up to you.

You start hunting at the front of the grocery store, and the parking lot.  Checking under carts, peering into grates.  Your hands and knees are a bit dirty and damp, and some people look at you like you’re crazy, but you find nothing.  

Ten minutes or so of hunting the parking lot, and you’re almost certain there’s no kittens there to be found.  You head back towards the store, and duck down the alley next to it.  It looks to lead into the small back lot and delivery area, just wide enough for the garbage truck that probably comes for the massive dumpsters at the end of the alley.  There’s lots of junk back here, piles of plastic pallets, boxes flattened and bound up.

Broken glass and gravel crunches underfoot as you explore, noisy enough that when you first hear the noise, you have to stop stock-still to make sure you did.  You wait, practically holding your breath, for maybe thirty full seconds.

At last, you hear a tiny, pathetic little ‘mew’.

It’s coming from your left, and heedless of the yuck and muddy water, you crouch down and peer into the gap under a pile of boxes.  Your phone makes a decent flashlight, and you fish it out and turn it on.

The light reflects off of a pair of eyes staring at you from the dark, a little bedraggled kitten so dirty that you can’t quite tell what color it is.  At first you think it’s alone, then you realize the little heap lying on the ground is another one.

Your heart almost plummets, but then you realize the second kitten is breathing, but faintly.

 

* * *

 

 

**Get them, and keep looking!**

 

The more alert kitten seems unwilling to come with you, and you end up with tiny needle-sharp claw gouges in your hand as you fish it out.  Once you’ve zipped up your jacket and tucked it in the front, however, it settles into the warmth tiredly.  It’s awkward, but you manage somehow.

They’re bigger than they seemed, eyes somewhere between gold and blue.  At least they’re not itty bitty little things.  The second one seems listless when you scoop it out, but it opens its eyes and gives a faint little mewp.  You can’t see any injuries, but it’s shivering when you tuck it in next to its sibling, cradling an arm under them.

That only leaves you with one arm free, but you’re not done hunting yet.  You don’t find anything as you awkwardly search the rest of the alley, which takes about another ten minutes.  As you’re coming around to the dumpsters, you hear voices in the back lot.  Poking your head out, you realize you’re not the only one that’s been searching.  There’s a man and a woman looking under the employee cars.

“I found two of them.”  You call, and they both glance up and over at you, “You’re looking for the kittens?”

“We found three, I took them home, but _someone_ was fussing about coming back to look.”  The woman says, approaching you, “You found two more?  That’s good, then, that’s probably all of them.”

As she approaches, you realize the faint, faded lines on her face are Vallaslin.  She must be Dalish, then.  The man follows, after one last glance under a car, his rather ugly knitted hat horribly askew.

“I…you’re probably right.”  He says, and then turns his attention to you, “Are they all right?”

“I think so?  One of them’s a little rough.”  You say uncertainly, unzipping your jacket a little, the more active kitten’s dirty nose poking out.

“I’m Ariane.  That…mess is Finn.”  The woman greets, leaning in a little to peek into your jacket, “Yes, they look like the same litter.  That’s good, then.  Do you want us to take them for you?  I’ve already bought food.”

“More?  You’ve got to be kitten me!”  Finn jokes weakly, his hopeful smile fading as you both look at him, Ariane rolling her eyes.  “No?  Well…never mind.”

 

* * *

 

 

**I was going to take them home.  Do you think they’ll be okay?  Do you think I need to take them to the vet?**

 

“They haven’t been out for long.  I didn’t see any fleas.  Let me see.”  Ariane says, extending her hands expectantly.

You carefully fish the kitten out of the front of your jacket, while trying to corral the other one.  It’s still shivering a little, but you think you can almost hear it purring.  Ariane deftly takes it from you, scratching behind its ears as she examines it.  

“Hungry and cold, but it doesn’t look injured.”  She says, sounding quite sure of herself, “Finn, do you have that jar of food?”

“Give me a moment.”  He says, in the middle of wiping his hands on a handkerchief.

Yeah, that’s an actual cloth handkerchief.  Huh.  You weren’t aware people still used those things.  When he catches both of you watching, he clears his throat and flushes, shoving it away in his pocket.

“It’s dirty outside.”  He mutters under his breath, fishing out a jar of what looks like baby food out of his other pocket, offering it over.

“Open it.”  Ariane orders impatiently.

While he unscrews the jar’s lid, you try to wrangle the other kitten.  While still filthy, it’s warm enough now to start getting squirmy again.  Right now it’s trying to climb up your shoulder, purring far louder than an animal so small should be capable of.

Casually, Ariane dunks her fingers into the jar while Finn cringes, and then offers them to the listless kitten.  After a few seconds, it finally starts licking off the grayish goop.

“It will be fine.”  She assures you, and then turns the kitten over slightly and corrects herself, “She.  You’ll have to get them fixed, but I don’t think they need the vet now.  They’re old enough to eat.  Better for them to go to the shelter now while they’re small, though.  Are you sure you want to keep them?  It is better to have a pair.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Yep.  I have cats now.**

 

Finn seems eager to leave, but he just fidgets and blusters while Ariane methodically informs you of what you need.  The kitten she’s holding seems to be perking up, happily slurping what turns out to be chicken baby food.  So you were right about the jar.  Meat goop.

It’s not the grossest thing you’ve ever stuck your fingers in, and it makes the more fidgety of the duo settle down.  His (it is a boy) tongue is rough against your fingers as he licks away, rumbling way too loud for such a little creature.

“Baths, you’re going to want to be extra careful with.  Only when you absolutely have to, wipes are far better.”  Ariane instructs, passing you over the other kitten, and then screwing the lid on the jar, “But they probably need one.  The shop at the mall is decent.  Just ask, they’ll help you find what you need.”

“I swear, I spend more time going to that place…”  You say, juggling both kittens a little awkwardly.  Luckily, the girl seems to just want to curl back up in your jacket.  “Okay.  Be careful with the baths, keep them warm, get kitten food.”

“And get them fixed!”  Ariane says imperiously, “When they’re old enough.”

“Got it.”  You say, firmly.

It can’t be that expensive, right?  The supplies might set you back a little, but you do get paid on Friday.  You’ll be fine.

You say goodbye to Ariane and Finn, who can’t seem to get into their car fast enough, though he does get you the box they brought in case they found more kittens.  Good.  Driving with cats in your jacket would probably be a dumb idea.  

There’s an old, worn towel in the bottom of it, but you take off your jacket and tuck it in there too after emptying your pockets.  It’s already dirty, and they seem to like it.  The box fits neatly on the floor in front of your passenger seat, and you find out that the rambunctious one is also the noisy one.

While he exercises his lungs to tell you how much he does _not_ like being confined to a box, you buckle up and consider your options.

 

* * *

 

**Get groceries put away, and then text Cole and see if they can help.**

 

You bring in the kittens first and get them settled, once you get home.  The grocery unload doesn’t take long, but by the time you’ve gotten it all put away, the little boy has discovered that your bathroom door doesn’t latch, and you have to rescue him from under your sagging couch.

His claws are still very sharp.  Ouch.

You make a mental note to do the door repairs later, put in the new knob.  Just buying a new one doesn’t quite do the job.  Luckily, a shoe under the door keeps it in place while you fish out your phone and text Cole.

While you wait for his messages, you do some kitten-care googling.

 

 

Well, that’s easier than having to worry and freak out about washing the cats yourself.  The internet is also adamantly against people shampoo for animals, so you’d have to buy that anyways.

Did the pet store have a groomers?  You don’t actually remember, you’ve never been inside.

Replacing your dirty jacket and the worn out towel with a small blanket you don’t mind getting a little messed, you replace the kittens in their cardboard prison.

“Sorry, little guy.”  You tell the protesting little boy.  

Okay, maybe you take him out for a cuddle, because he’s tiny and pathetic, and your shirt is already pretty dirty.  He’s much happier on your shoulder as you head back for the car, but you’re not going to drive with a kitten climbing all over you, so back in the box he goes. 

And back to the mall you go.

 

It’s an unexpected trip, but hey, at least you’ve got the time, right?

When you arrive, people are starting to fill the lot a bit more.  Holiday shopping.  You get a look or two as you head in with your box, both of them now starting to make some noise.  The little girl seems to have somehow gotten a nap even with her brother stomping all over her, and she’s starting to explore, too.

That’s a relief.  She was so quiet that you were a little worried.

For once you park around the back side of the mall, instead of over by the theater.  The pet store’s pretty close to Freddy Fennic’s.  Probably to drag in the kids on their way to go play arcade games.  It has an entrance off of the parking lot itself, the neon sign bright.

Barktown.

Terrible pun aside, it looks like a nice store.  Nice enough that you’re worried that you can’t just waltz in with a box of dirty cats.  Can you?

 

* * *

 

 

**Let’s wait outside and text Cole.  This is kind of awkward.**

 

Lurking just to the left of the entrance of the pet store, you send a quick text to Cole to let him know you’ve arrived.  And then you immediately pick up the box again, before a curious passing child can stick their hand in.  

The last thing you want is a parent shouting at you because their kid stuck their hand in the kitten shredder.

You feel a buzz in your pocket, but it proves unnecessary to check as Cole comes wandering outside, staring at his phone.

“Hey!”  You greet, and then grin as he glances up, looking almost surprised to see you, “Sorry, I didn’t know if it was okay to bring them inside.”

“It will be all right.”  He assures you, moving over and peeking into the box as you lower it a little.  “They are…bigger than I thought.”

“I found them in an alley next to the grocery store.”  You explain, following him as he goes to get the door for you.  “Thank you.  I take it that it’s a good thing they’re bigger?”

“Yes.”  Cole confirms, leading you into the store.

It’s quieter than expected, but it doesn’t look like they have any adoptable bigger animals here.  You’d assume anyone looking for a Satinalia present is going for puppies and kittens, not lizards and fish.  There’s not many employees, you assume that mostly teenagers work here, and the high school is still in session.  

Cole leads you along an aisle of pet beds, the irritable complaints of the noisy kitten following you.  

“He has a lot to say!”  Cole remarks, as you both round the corner and head for the ‘pet salon’ section of the store, as they call it.  “That’s good, too.”

“It’s the other one I was worried about, but I think maybe she just needs some food and rest.”  You say, and then startle when a voice speaks up from behind you.

“It depends on how long they were left outside.”  

Trying not to jump out of your skin, you turn and stare down an abruptly embarrassed-looking man.  He’s rather tall and lanky, hair pulled back into a short ponytail, and the look of slight shame only deepens as you glare at him.

“I could have dropped the cats.”  You inform him, and he lifts his hands defensively.  “Don’t sneak up on people like that!”

“In retrospect, not a good idea, I agree.  Sorry about that.”  He says, and then peers down into the box in your hands, “They are filthy, aren’t they.  Bastards.”

“I’m assuming you mean the people who left them out there, not the kittens.”  You say.

“Yes.  Though, in all fairness, I doubt the cats know who their father is.”  He says, and then glances up and over your shoulder, “Hello, Cole.”

“Hello, Anders.”  Cole greets in return.

 

* * *

 

**Can you give them a bath?  I just dug them out of an alley and I really can’t afford anything fancy, but I want to make sure they’re well taken care of.  It’s a very sad story.  The kittens are very sad.  Look at them.  Sad kittens.**

 

“Absolutely devastated.  These may be the saddest kittens I have ever seen.”  Anders agrees, grinning faintly,

“They are?”  Cole asks curiously, looking a bit lost.

“No.  She’s trying to play on my sympathies in order to get something from me.”  Anders says, surprisingly blunt but still cheerful as he turns to face Cole, “Luckily, I’m a complete sucker, and it works.”

“People are more likely to help if they feel sympathy.”  Cole muses under his breath, “It would have been very sad, though, if they were still lost.”

“Well, hopefully the people that found the other three would have found them…”  You say, following as Anders walks past you and continues toward the salon, “But I don’t know.  She was pretty cold.”

“I’ll be careful with her, then.”  Anders promises you, and then holds out his hands for the box.  “Pass them over.  I promise, I know what I’m doing.”

For a second, you clutch the box a little tighter.  In the end, though, you give in and give them both one last scratch behind the ears before handing off the box.

“You’re going to need a carrier.  One of the little collapsible ones should be enough, if money’s tight.”  Anders instructs you, and then pushes through the door.

It says employees only.  Well, that’s no fair.

“There’s windows to watch.”  Cole invites, apparently noticing your slight distress.

 

* * *

 

 

**Yeah, let’s watch.  Not that I’m nervous at all or anything…**

 

Thankful for Cole’s understanding, you head over to the windows and peer through. At first you can’t see much, just Anders’ back as he fetches them out.  He does seem to know what he’s doing, he checks them both over thoroughly before heading to the sink.  

When he notices you watching, he sets down the squirming kittens and offers you a reassuring thumbs up.  

“Thank you again for helping me with this.”  You say to Cole, who is watching the process intently.  “It’s really nice of you.”

“I wanted to see the kittens.”  He admits to you with a smile, “I am glad it makes you happy, too.”

“I guess I’ll have to think of a name, if I want to keep them.”  You muse, gazing through the window.  “Oh jeez, I didn’t think he was going to do them both at the same time!”

“He is on his break, he said he has to do it quickly.”  Cole says, “Sometimes Anders gets in trouble, I don’t think he wanted to.”

“Wait…he’s not supposed to be doing this?”  You ask a little nervously, glancing back again.

“He does a lot of things he isn’t supposed to do.”  Cole says, seeming completely calm still, “He says it’s how he fights back against the corporate machine.”

Ooo _kay_.  Well.  Let’s hope he doesn’t decide to protest the corporate overlords while washing your cats.  Or…maybe washing your cats _is_ protesting the corporate overlords?

“Oh!  He’s orange!”  Cole says, dragging your attention back to where the kittens are finally getting their bath.

The boy is…yep, under the grime, orange and faintly striped.  The girl isn’t white, like you thought, but black and orange, too.  A calico.  The grime and dirt swirls down the drain as you watch them getting rinsed off, fur sticking up oddly in little clumps.

Poor little things look even more pathetic wet, all tiny and scrawny, mouths open as they mew in protest.

 

* * *

 

 

**So ah…how’s Solas doing?**

It’s a good thing Cole doesn’t pick up on subtext that easily, because you’re about as subtle as a kick to the face.  

“He’s not happy.”  Cole says, watching with apparent fascination as the kittens are rinsed off and then taken to be dried.

“He’s…not?  Is something wrong?  Are people being jerks again?”  You ask, wandering down a little to follow as Anders moves.

Maybe he’s having second thoughts about Friday?  No, of course not, don’t be dumb.  Not everything is about you.

“I don’t know.”  Cole says, a bit vaguely, “I wanted to help, but he said to leave it alone.”

“I ah…hm.”  You say, a bit awkwardly, deciding to change the subject instead of pushing it, “Are you excited for the holiday?”

“Yes.”  Cole confirms, brightening a little as he glances back towards you, “They’re going to have a party.  Here, at the mall.”

“I think I heard about that.”  You say, smiling right back, “It sounds like fun.”

You’re about to say more, but then the employees only-marked door opens, Anders poking his head out.

“Is the coast clear?”  He asks.

You look over your shoulder uncertainly, and then glance back and shrug.  He sighs, pushing out of the door the rest of the way.  Without your box, you notice, though he passes you back the blanket at least.  You tuck it away.

“Here.”  He says a bit imperiously, passing you the little calico girl.  Cleaner, she seems a lot happier, rumbling away as you tuck her against your chest, her little claws pricking through your shirt.

Cole is handed the other one, and stares down at it as it mews loudly at him and tries to climb up to his shoulder.

“Let’s get you your things, before the manager shows up.”  Anders says, and then starts off up an aisle, leaving you and Cole to catch up.

 

* * *

 

 

**Now is the time to keep our mouth shut, and just go along with it.**

 

Keeping quiet, you and Cole trail after Anders.  Not that it’s silent, Anders starts lecturing as soon as you make your way through the doggy beds to the cat supplies.  Most of it’s just common-sense stuff, don’t let them play with stuff they can swallow, don’t keep house plants around them unless you’ve checked them…but he seems to know a lot about cats.

At first you’re nervous about letting him pick out things, but he’s obviously being careful.  The first thing he does is pick out a little carrier for you, ripping off the tag and shoving it in his pocket.  That’s a relief.  It’s much easier to handle the kittens with them safely contained, even if they’re now both complaining.

Before long, you find yourself with most of the basics, including food and a thing of litter that makes you grateful you don’t live up more than a couple flights of stairs.  None of it’s that expensive, but you notice once or twice he doesn’t go for the cheapest thing, which makes you cringe just a little.

Still, you trust that he knows what he’s doing, and you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Cole is apparently happy to follow along and carry, but you can’t imagine he has that much break time left.

Finally, with what you know is just the basics, but what _feels_ like a massive amount of stuff, Anders heads for the checkout.

“Like I said, make sure the food and water are kept separate.  You’ll have to watch how they eat, some cats are all right with food being left out, some gorge themselves.”  He says, and then adds as he drops his armload of stuff on the counter and steps around it, “You’re being pretty quiet.  Not scared you off, I hope?”

“No!  Just…listening.  It’s sort of overwhelming.”  You say, setting down the small litter tray you were carrying, “I was not expecting my day to go like this.”

“Most people wouldn’t have even cared.  That’s the problem with people.  It’s easier just to keep walking.”  Anders says, faintly bitter.

You’re starting to understand why he and Cole are friends.

 

* * *

 

 

**I agree.  It’s really unfortunate, that’s why I try to do what I can.**

 

“If only more people thought like that.”  Anders says, voice getting a little heated, “Sadly, they don’t.  Not unless it will score them points, of course.  Don’t get me wrong, public displays are good, but not when they end… ”

It sounds like he’s starting to get wound up a little, but luckily Cole quietly interrupts.

“I have to go back to work soon.”

“Right, sorry.”  Anders says with a shake of his head, and then glances at you, “I told him to interrupt me if I get rambling.”

“If you need to get back, it’s all right.”  You tell Cole, after a smile to Anders, “Thank you so much for your help.”

“I have thirty minutes, it’s been twenty five.”  Cole tells you, “And I have to walk back.”

“Sure, no problem.  Thank you again.  I owe you!”

“You’re welcome.”  Cole says, and then lifts a hand as he steps back.  “Goodbye, Anders.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”  Anders replies, and then turns his attention back to you.  “Eighty nine fifty.”

“Could be worse.”  You murmur ruefully, pulling out your card yet again after setting down the carrier and its noisy occupants.  “Now I just have to find a decent place to get them fixed.”

“I’d wait about a month.  And get their shots, too.”  Anders replies, taking your card and swiping it, “I know of some decent places, I can help you, if you’d like.”

“Thanks, that’s nice of you.”  You say absent-mindedly, signing your name on the receipt.

He did give you a discount.  It’s funny how often that happens when you take the time to ask.  And no one’s even thrown you out yet!  He also didn’t charge you for the bath, which makes sense if he wasn’t supposed to be doing it.

“Happy to help someone bothering to do the right thing.”  Anders replies, cheerful voice sounding the slightest bit forced.  

When you glance up from putting your card away and take the reciept, you realize he’s written what you assume is his number on it.

_Oh._

 

* * *

 

 

**If I had known all it took to get a cute guy’s number was cats, I would have gotten one ages ago.**

 

“You’ve opened up an entire world of dirty jokes with that statement, you do know that, don’t you?”  Anders asks, relaxed again.

“I’d be disappointed if I hadn’t!”  You tease back, folding up the receipt and tucking it into your pocket.  

“Luckily, I’m too much of a gentleman to make them.”  Anders says, returning your smile.

“And suggesting them is okay?”  You ask, and then jokingly add at his shrug,  “Uh huh, right.”

You take a second and survey your purchases.  This is going to take a couple trips.  You start with the bags, though, loading up your arms, but keeping your hands free.

You don’t want to leave the kittens behind, after all.

“I’ve got it.”  Anders says when you reach for the bag of litter uncertainly, waving your hand away.  “ _This_ part is actually what I’m supposed to do.”

“Well, the kittens thank you.  I’m sure they didn’t like being dirty.”  You say, lifting the carrier to peek in at them.  Luckily no accidents yet.

They’re still complaining, and continue to complain as you get them out to your car and tuck them in the back seat.  They’re secure, this time you don’t have to have them next to you in case of escapes.  

Anders helps you load up the bags of food and litter, and the other bigger items, but doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get back inside just yet.

 

* * *

 

 

**Maybe a little more small talk?**

 

“So, have you known Cole for long?”  You ask, closing up the back of your car with an emphatic slam.

“A little less than a year, I think.  I’m glad to see he’s making other friends.”  Anders says, and then hesitates a little, words more careful, “He has a little difficulty at times.”

“I like him,”  You reassure, smiling, “just the way he is.”

“Right.  You seem like a very sweet person.”  Anders says, reaching up and raking back some of his hair as it slips free.

“I don’t know about that.  I try to be a decent one, at least…”  You say, and then joke, “Maybe it’s just the contrast from all the asshole you apparently run into that makes it seem that way.”

His face darkens for a second, but at least it doesn’t seem to be aimed at you.  When you tilt your head slightly, he blinks, and it fades.  When you smile quizzically, he doesn’t return it.

“It’s nothing.”  He says, and then glances over his shoulder at the shop, “I should probably…”

“Ri-”  You start to say.

You’re interrupted, though, as he looks back and starts talking, stopping as well when your words tumble over each other.  You both laugh, and he shakes his head a little.

“I know this is a bit sudden, but do you have plans on Friday?”  He asks.

 

* * *

 

**I do.  Maybe some other time?**

 

“You have my number.”  Anders says, obviously a little disappointed, but smiling anyways.

“I do.”  You agree, giving your pocket a little pat.

“I should…probably work.”  He finally decides, glancing over his shoulder, “Have a good afternoon.”

“Have a good day!”  You say cheerfully, and wave as he turns to head back to the entrance of the store.

Mindful of the kittens waiting to get home, you head right back into your car instead of considering another trip to the mall.  After all, you’ve been here enough today, right?

You’re glad to be getting out, honestly, because the parking lot is filling up quickly, and the air is sharp and cold in your nostrils.  It reminds you all over again that the holiday is coming up, and holiday expenses with it.  

Maybe even snow.  You got new tires, so you’d survive it.

“Well, I got my present, even if I can’t afford anything else.”  You say to yourself, over the faint ‘mew’s from the back seat.  “Hold on, babies, we’ll be home soon.”

 

Another twenty minutes and you’re back again.  It takes a couple trips to get everything up the stairs, and when it’s all settled you spend some time getting the things set up for the kittens.

By the time you’re done selecting optimal scratcher placement and filling the litter box, it’s almost four.  The kittens have tried their crunchies, and do not appear to be starving to death or anything.  Pet ownership success.  You have a little bit of the day left, but not too much.

What will you do for the next two hours?

 

* * *

 

 

**Take like five hundred pictures of the kittens and send them to everyone. &  Try fixing the bathroom door and floor.**

 

You take a whole bunch of kitten (and kitten and selfie) pictures, and start sending them off.  It’s very important, after all.  The little guy doesn’t seem super enthused, though, after exploring he holes himself up under the bed and won’t come out, which is worrying.  Hopefully he’s just adjusting.  The little girl keeps trying to climb into your lap, even when you stand up.

Head scratches are appreciated, but the tummy scritches appear to be a trap.  Your hand is starting to look like you got attacked by a very small serial killer.  Ow.

 

While you answer texts, you open up the new doorknob and replace it.  It’s an easy project, luckily, and doesn’t take too long.  The floor’s a bit more tricky, and while you study up on the process online, you answer returned texts.  Amusingly, Cole just thanks you for the pictures, but other people have more to say.

 

Once you answer a few texts, you get back to tackling the floor.  Your hair dryer warms up the linoleum enough to peel it back, and you clean up both floor and underside of it easily enough.  Then it’s time to slather on the adhesive, which you _think_ you do a decent enough job of.

Hopefully.

You remember to weight the floor afterwards, shoving some of your newly-acquired canned goods between the bottom of the cabinet and the floor, wedging them in.

You are a home-repairing, kitten-rescuing badass.

 

* * *

 

**Invite Bethany to dinner, do some Solas flirting.**

 

You send Bethany a text with your address and some directions, and then you spend some time texting while you figure out just what to do for dinner.

Luckily you’ve got a fridge full of fixings, and you dig about while you go from teasing to full on flirting.  Unexpected returned flirting, too.

You don’t know why you’re so surprised, but _damn_ , the man can flirt.

 

 

_Well._

Okay, then.

You text Bethany again, just to check up and to distract yourself.  She’s on her way, just stopping at home first.  She says her sib has some friends over, but her mom is kicking them out.

She might be a little bit.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Everybody over.  Wednesday night party!**

 

You extend the invitation.  Why not?  They’ve been nice enough to wholeheartedly welcome you to a family get-together, the least you can do is offer.  Sure, the apartment’s not big, but it’s not a studio, at least, so people won’t be on top of your bed.

Suddenly you’re glad you took the time to fix things up and unpack all your boxes.

Much to your surprise, they accept.

It’s about five when the knock on your door comes.  Opening it is a bit like breaking a dam, before you know what you’re doing people are pouring in and Bethany’s laughing and apologizing. 

Okay, maybe it’s not that many people, but they feel like it.  Or, at least Hawke feels like it.  Before you know what hits you, you’ve got an arm slung around your neck and a hand messing up your hair, and you’re left a bit off balance.

“Thanks for having us!”  Hawke says cheerfully, leaning their weight on your shoulder a bit, “I hope you weren’t just being polite, cause if you were, you’re kinda screwed.”

“No, I meant it, but…”  You say, bewildered, trying to straighten up and get a look around, “I just got kittens today, I just have to be careful that they don’t get scared, that’s a…”

“Hey guys, keep it down a bit!”  Hawke orders, interrupting you, and then grins broadly at you as they release you at last, “Got it.  Does your oven work?”

“Uh…yes?”  You hazard, turning around as they walk past you, trying to ascertain just what’s about to happen to your kitchen.

Your eyes meet a pair of bored green ones staring at you from across your counter as you turn around, and you blink for a second in surprise.  Oh!  You know him, it’s the guy that works with Sera.  Fenris, right?

He nods when you wave, and then you turn around again, trying to take stock of the rest of the house.  There’s an elven girl you don’t know with short black hair, still taking off her scarf next to the door, and talking to…

Isabela!  Well, that’s not as big of a surprise, Varric had mentioned Hawke before when talking to her.  She flashes you a small wink when she catches you looking.  Apart from them, there just seems to be a tall redheaded woman that you also don’t know.  She approaches you almost immediately after shrugging after her jacket, extending a hand.

“I’m sorry for this lot.”  She apologizes, voice crisp, “Thank you for having us, I’m Aveline.”

 

* * *

 

 

**You’re already sorry for them?  Uh oh, should I be worried?**

 

“Worried?  No.”  Aveline says, shaking your hand as you take hers, “Hawke said best behavior, which means at worst the damage will be psychological.”

“I heard that!”  Hawke protests from your kitchen, loudly, “Aveline, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry about sending Donnic that text?”

“Once would be nice!”  Aveline retorts, voice cold, though you notice a faint blush in her cheeks, “Blessed Andraste, Hawke, could you stop bringing that up?”

“How dare you make him think she might actually be interesting?”  Isabela mocks, grinning as Aveline spins and glares at her, her gaze shifting to you, “Nice to see you, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”  You say simply, trying to keep up, “Nice to see you, too.  Do you…know what’s going on in my kitchen?”

“Nachos, I assume, from what Hawke picked up at the store.  I wouldn’t worry, Fenris knows what he’s doing.”  Isabela assures you, with a little grin, “He won’t let Hawke burn your kitchen down.”

“That’s good, I guess.”  You say, uncertainly, “Should I go help, or…?”

“I’ve got it covered.”  Aveline assures you briskly.

You watch her go, feeling a little more comfortable.  She seems pretty responsible, probably won’t let them trash the place.  

“Nice place.”  Isabela says, glancing around, “A bit shabby on the outside, but decent amount of space.  When I first moved to town I was practically living in a closet.”

“It has its quirks, but I’m finally starting to feel at home.”  You say, and then smile as the one person you haven’t met wanders over, leaving Bethany’s side.

“Hello!”  She greets, voice cheerful and lilting, “Isabela, do you two know each other?”

“You could say that, kitten.”  Isabela says with a faint smirk.

 

* * *

 

 

**_Introduce yourself, of course._ **

 

“I’m Merrill!”  She greets you in return, smile widening, “Thank you for having us.  It was so nice of you to offer.”

“Well, I figure, why not!”  You say, lifting your shoulders in a shrug, “Bethany said you all were getting kicked out, so…”

“Oh, well, Hawke forgot that their mother had book club tonight.”  Merrill explains, giving a little sigh, “So, how do you two know each other?  Do you work together?”

“No, actually, we met at Varric’s.”  You explain, with a smile, “I work across the street, so…I walked in and Isabela was in the middle of a bar fight, actually.  I just had to say hi after that.”

“Technically, I didn’t start it.  I did finish it, mind you.”  Isabela says, stepping around you and heading for the counter, “Where’s my wine?”

“The instant I start caring, I will be certain to inform you.”  Fenris says flatly to Isabela, and then glances to you, “Do you have a can opener I can borrow?”

“Yeah, top drawer by the fridge…”  You say, “I couldn’t tell you where my corkscrew is offhand, though.”

“It’s a screw top.”  Isabela tells you with a wicked little grin that widens at Fenris’ disgusted sigh, “It’s so much _fun_ to annoy him.”

“They’re always doing that.”  Merrill tells you, and then giggles faintly, “I think he secretly likes it.”

“No.  I do not.”  Fenris mumbles as he digs through a drawer.

“Oh.  Well.  Maybe not.”  Merrill corrects herself.

 

* * *

 

 

**We should show Bethany the kittens, we did promise after all.**

 

Seeing that Aveline is keeping anything horrible from happening to your kitchen, you gently extricate yourself and head over to Bethany.  She tucks her phone away as you approach, smiling.

“It’s nice of you to do this.”  She says, and leans over to glance around you, “They really are nice.  Fenris too, once you get to know him.”

“He works with Sera.  We sort of not really met once.”  You say, and then beckon.  “C’mon, you have to meet the kitties.”

The kittens are probably in the bedroom.  You put their little bed in there, but they seemed more interested in the basket of laundry.  Maybe that might help them get used to your smell or something?

They’re both in the laundry, but not snoozing.  The little ginger is enduring having his ears cleaned by his sister, at least until he notices you.

“That’s right, I forgot about…”  Bethany starts, trailing after you.

She falls silent as the kitten abruptly jumps to his feet and zooms off, disappearing under the bed.  The little calico just turns and watches him, tongue still poking out slightly.

“He’s been doing that ever since I brought him home.”  You say, a little frustrated as you sit down on the floor and peer under the bed, “He was crawling all over me before.”

“I’m sure he’ll be okay.”  Bethany assures you, crouching down and offering a hand to the little girl, who wobbles to her feet and stomps over to sniff it, “They’ve had a really big day.  Hello, baby!  Aren’t you adorable.”

“We all did.”  You agree, frustrated when you realize the kitten’s huddling in the back.

You don’t _want_ him to be scared of you!

“You should try ignoring him.”  A voice says from the doorway.

Startled, you glance over your shoulder, and Merrill gives you an apologetic smile.

“Oh.  Sorry!   That probably sounded a bit wrong.”  She says, smile turning into a frown, “Cats are hunters.  They don’t like being hunted.  If he’s feeling nervous, he might just need time.”

 

* * *

 

 

**I didn’t think about it like that.  Thanks, I appreciate your help.**

 

“You’re very welcome!”  Merrill says, sitting down on the floor as well, folding her legs, “It’s a bit noisy, but it’s quiet in here.  He should be all right.”

“I found them only this afternoon.”  You explain, glancing over at the other kitten, now crawling all over Bethany’s lap, trying to catch her fingers.  “I guess it’s a bit much to expect them to be settled in.”

“Everyone needs time to feel at home, even kittens.”  Merrill agrees, “Oh, it’s too bad Anders couldn’t come.  He loves cats, I’m sure he could help.”

Normally you’d shake off the coincidence, but considering how things go around here, there’s no way it isn’t the same guy.  Which reminds you, you should probably put his number in your phone later, before you lose it.

“He actually…helped me with them at the store.”  You say, all too aware that they’re both staring at you now, “And gave them a bath.  I found them in an alley, they were filthy.”

“Then he already met them!  Never mind, then.”  Merrill says, cheerfully.

“You met Anders?  Did he hit on you?”  Bethany asks, mischievously, and then laughs at Merrill’s faint ‘tsk’.  “I’m only asking!”

“I have a feeling I missed something.”  You say, rather than answering the question outright.

“He can be a bit…intense.”  Bethany says, still laughing, “Fair warning, if you’re interested.”

“You’re just assuming he hit on me?”  You ask Bethany, unable to help a smile as she grins at you.

“Didn’t he?”  She asks, picking up the kitten when it nearly tumbles out of her lap.

 

* * *

 

**He asked if I had plans on Friday, but I’m meeting up with Solas after work that night.**

 

“Solas?  I’m not sure I…”  Bethany starts to say, only to get interrupted by Merrill.

“Really?”  She asks you, eyes a little wide, “He’s awfully intimidating, isn’t he?”

“Maybe a little bit?”  You say, lifting your shoulders in a shrug, “If you just talk to him, though, he’s not really at all.  Well, at least until he starts interrogating you.”

“He’s the man that owns that shop I told you that I like.”  Merrill tells Bethany, clarifying, “The one Cole works at.”

“Oh, the one you’re terrified of!”  Bethany declares, and then laughs, “Really?”

“It’s not that I’m scared of him…”  Merrill protests, and then sighs forlornly, “Except that it is.  How are you not frightened of him?  I like to look at the things, but I have to wait until he’s not there.  That’s where I got my necklace.  The one carved out of fossilized halla horn.”

“He’s really not that bad at all.”  You say, reaching over to scratch the kitten behind her ears as she meeps at you from Bethany’s lap, “I think he just needs some time to warm up to you, that’s all.  He’s actually a bit of a flirt.”

“I can’t even imagine.”  Merrill says, sounding almost horrified, “I’d be afraid he’d give me that awful glare.”

“Or maybe you’ve just built him up as being so scary, that you’ve made him into a monster in your head, Merrill.”  Bethany teases.

“That’s probably it.”  Merrill agrees, and then lowers her voice, “Don’t look now, but I think someone has finally gotten curious enough to poke his head out.”

You glance over, discreetly, just in time to see a curious pink nose poke out from under the bed.  Keeping in mind Merrill’s words from earlier, you don’t make a move for now, letting him creep closer on his own.

“So you say he’s a flirt?  Is this a date, then?”  Bethany asks.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Maybe.  I’m not thinking too much about it, just going to see what happens.**

 

You’re tempted, very tempted to show Bethany the texts you were exchanging with Solas, but in the end you decide not to.  You decide to try and play it cool instead.  Hopefully it’s somewhat believable.

“I’d be nervous as anything.”  Merrill says, and then glances over her shoulder at a shout from the kitchen.  “Oh!  I think the food is ready.”

“We’ll be along in a minute.”  Bethany promises, and then turns her gaze seriously to you.

Merrill gets to her feet slowly, you assume to avoid startling the kittens, and then ducks into the other room.  Left alone with Bethany, you can feel the expectation in the air.

“Okay, what is it?”  You finally ask, wriggling your toes slightly as the little ginger boy finally creeps over to sniff at you.

He jumps, but then bats at your foot with a paw.

“I need your help.”  Bethany replies, so soberly that you’re starting to worry about.

“With what?  Of course I’ll help, if I can.”  

“I know Carver still hasn’t gotten me my Satinalia present, and I’m afraid he’s going to get me something _awful._ ”  Bethany says, and your dread turns into abrupt humor, “Can you please find a way to help him?  He feels so horrible when he gets me something I don’t like.  It’s not like when we were children and he knew exactly what I wanted.”

“Is it really that bad?”  You ask with a laugh, “You are twins after all, doesn’t he know you better than anyone?”

“I asked for a scarf and new gloves last year, and he bought me a camouflage set!  With bright orange tassles!”  Bethany replies, lifting her voice as you start laughing harder, “He said ‘I thought you liked green’!”

 

* * *

 

 

**Of course!  Of course I’ll help.  Just give me some ideas.**

 

Bethany takes a couple minutes to give you some ideas, and you take notes on your phone.  The whole situation is still pretty funny, but you manage not to spill the beans about Carver asking you first.  This is handy, though!  Kill two birds with one stone.

“Have you named them?”  Bethany asks you as you finish typing up.

You look up, and then reach down to pull the little ginger kitten off of your foot as he tries to kill your toes.  Despite his earlier nervousness, he does exactly as he did earlier, and immediately turns into a rumbling, climbing machine, latching his claws into your arm and scrambling out of your hand.

“I was thinking I would call the girl Atisha, and the boy Fen’harel.”  You reply, and then explain at her puzzled look, “It’s elven.  Sort of.  Do you not know the artist, Fen’harel?”

“It sounds vaguely familiar.”  Bethany says, “I only know a couple little phrases that Merrill taught me.  But no, I don’t think I know the artist.”

“It’s just this…thing I’m getting sucked into with Sera.  She’s a fan.”  You say, and then shrug with a smile, “It just seemed like a good name for a troublemaker.”

“They could probably use some quiet time.  I’m going to go out and eat.”  Bethany says, giving the calico one last scratch behind the ears before depositing her back in your dirty laundry.

 

* * *

 

 

**I’ll be right there, just want to get them settled.**

 

Bethany heads out, and you spend some quiet time with the kittens, listening to the chaos going on just outside your room.  Now that Fen is done cowering under the bed, he seems happy to bite the crap out of your fingers.  Kitten teeth are almost as sharp as kitten claws.  Ouch.

It’s nice to spend some quiet time with them, since you really don’t know each other that well yet.

After a minute or two, Atisha curls up in a discarded t-shirt and tucks a paw over her eyes, which you assume means it’s time for a nap.  You rescue your toes from Fen again, giving him a little scratch behind his ears as you get to your feet.

When you stand up, he runs for the bed again, but at least you know how to get him to come out now.  You navigate your living room to get their food and water, tucking it into the bedroom for now so that they don’t have to come out unless they want to.

When you come back out again, you end up face to face with a plate being shoved at your chest.  Blinking, you look up from the nachos to Fenris, curiously.

“Um…thank you?”  You say, taking the plate from his hands.

Somewhat to your surprise he smiles, sardonically lopsided, and shakes his head at you.

“Did you think we were going to eat in front of you?”  He asks, voice a sarcastic rasp, “In your own home?”

“No, but I can make my own plate!” 

“A fair point, but if you move too slowly, Hawke will eat everything.”  He says, and then steps back towards the couch, “Take whatever you want from the drinks.”

As you follow, you realize that Hawke is sprawled out on the floor in front of your television, sorting through the cords.  Merrill is sitting on the couch watching, and so is Bethany.  Isabela and Aveline are in the kitchen.  Bickering, from what you can hear.

“Can I hook my computer up to this thing?”  They call over at you.

“Yes, I swear it works, despite how old it looks.”  You say, amused, “It should hook right up.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Go help Hawke**

 

Setting down your plate on your coffee table, you plop down on the floor and help Hawke hook their laptop up to your television.  Considering you don’t have a dvd player or a console yourself, that’s the only way you watch movies, yourself.  

It doesn’t take long before Hawke and Merrill are looking through movies, and you have a minute to eat.  

It’s strange having so many people in your house at once, especially ones you don’t know that well.  But, well, Bethany is here, and Hawke seems to just be treating you as if you’ve known them your whole life, so it’s not actually as awkward as you might have assumed at first.

“No, I can’t just ‘take the ticket off’.”  You hear Aveline say from behind you, loud enough to cut through any other noise.  “And even if I could, I don’t even like you!”

“Of course you like me.”  Isabela counters breezily, lifting the bottle of wine, “Our witty banter is just how we express our friendship.  Well, at least I’m witty.”

“No, it isn’t.”  Aveline counters, and then sighs and extends her glass as Isabela tips the bottle towards her, “Just show up at court, you can probably argue your way out of it.  Try not to let your tits fall out of your shirt while you’re flirting with the judge.”

“You’ll get used to them.”  Fenris says dryly, startling you.

You didn’t even know he was paying attention, he was staring at his phone.  He doesn’t even look up as he speaks, just continues typing with one hand, wine in the other.

 

* * *

 

 

**Have you tried a spray bottle?  I hear it works wonders for curbing bad behavior.**

 

Luckily, it doesn’t seem like Isabela or Aveline heard you.  They’re still going at it, though a bit more casually now.  

“You know, that might just work…”  Fenris muses gravely, as Hawke snickers, “Either that or someone would get punched.  Are you volunteering to try?”

“Ah, no.  I think I’ll pass, thanks.”  You say, grinning.  “I don’t look good with black eyes.”

“They’re not really black, though, are they.  They’re purple.”  Merrill muses, pausing with a chip halfway to her mouth, “Why do you think they call them that?”

“They sort of look black.  At first.”  Hawke says, bringing up the movie of choice at last, “Here we go.”

Fenris slides over to make room for you, and you settle down next to him out of habit.  And then Hawke settles down on the other side of him…

It quickly becomes obvious that there’s not quite enough seats to go around.  You really hadn’t anticipated this many people just showing up to your apartment like this.  Merrill seems quite comfortable perched on the arm of the couch with her knees up, and Bethany insists she’s fine on the floor, but that doesn’t leave a ton of room.

Still, it’s your house, and you’re playing the good host, you should probably give up your seat at the couch.  Besides, you can go grab something to drink if you get up.

 

* * *

 

 

**Give Isabela our seat!  Maybe her lap will be free.**

 

“Looking for somewhere to sit?”  You ask Isabela playfully as she approaches the couch.

“No, thank you, I’ve already found my seat.”  She says, lips curving up into a sly smile.

You’re forced to yank your plate out of the way, over your head as she abruptly sprawls over the arm of the couch, ass landing in your lap.  Lazily she stretches her legs over the arm, crossing her ankles, and then slumps against Fenris’ shoulder.

“I am not a headrest.”  He gravels, eyes slanting aside at her.

“Oh now, darling, don’t underestimate yourself like that.”  Isabela replies, “You make a fine headrest.”  

Fenris just sighs disgustedly, but doesn’t move.

Well, your plan has failed, but there’s a butt in your lap, instead, so maybe only about fifty percent failed.  You didn’t manage to get a drink, and now Isabela is stealing your food, but Fenris made you a massive plate so it’s not so bad.

You are, however, trapped, and forced to watch the absolutely awful comedy slash action movie Hawke has picked out.  Bad jokes and ass kicking galore.  On the plus side…pretty girl in your lap, and good company.

By the time you’re midway through the second movie, you actually feel pretty welcomed and comfortable.  Everyone treats you like they’ve known you forever.  Before you realize it, there’s credits and people are making noises like they’re getting ready to leave, and Fenris and Aveline are cleaning your kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

**Talk to Hawke/Fenris before they go.**

 

You mosey on in to the kitchen, doing your best not to get underfoot.  They seem to have it pretty well in hand.  Hawke is going a mile a minute, complete with grandiose gestures, their voice rising and falling dramatically.  You scoot closer and try to figure out what’s up.

“And Varric’s got this idea, right?  You know his brother’s got that big store he rents out, right?”  Hawke is saying, hands lifting to rake back their hair.  “He doesn’t have anyone renting it right now.”

“After that whole mess between you lot, you think Bartrand is going to do a thing for you, Hawke?”  Aveline asks, sounding torn between amusement and disgust, “He and Varric are barely speaking any longer.”

“That was all Bartrand’s fault!  All!  I’m just saying…”  Hawke says, leaning over the counter, “Laser tag.”

“No one plays laser tag any more, Hawke.”  Fenris says, shaking his head as he hands a dish to Aveline.

“Karaoke?”  Hawke suggests, hopefully, “No?  Indoor trampolines, then.  Indoor paintball?”

“I like karaoke!”  Merrill calls over helpfully.

“If you are intent on wasting your money, do some research.”  Fenris declares, adding with a sigh as Hawke peers at him expectantly, “I don’t know.  Aren’t gaming bars popular?”

Hawke looks at you, expectantly.

 

* * *

 

 

**Book stores are making a comeback.  Especially if you serve alcohol!**

 

“I like books.”  You explain, a little bit awkwardly as you suddenly feel all eyes on you, “I’m studying library science, actually.”

“Naughty librarian…”  Isabela teases from near the door, slinging her scarf around her neck, “How very appropriate.”

“Nerds love being drunk.”  Hawke says, stroking their chin, “It helps them pretend they have social skills…this could work.”

“It’s going to be a disaster.”  Aveline says, brusquely, “Find a way to do it that doesn’t involve Bartrand!”

“I have to agree with Aveline, Hawke.”  Fenris says aside, and then glances to you, “You’re studying library science?  That’s an interesting field.  What are you planning on doing with it?”

“I haven’t actually decided.” You say, shaking your head, “I mean, it can open so many doors.  You know, everyone thinks it’s just the public library, but really…”

“You can go almost anywhere.”  He agrees, seeming the most engaged you’ve ever seen him.  “Do you write, yourself, or only work with the books?”

 

* * *

 

 

**Yes, actually.  I love to write.**

 

****

“Really.”  He says, so flat that you’re not sure if it’s a question or not, “That’s interesting.”

You’re not really sure what to make of that, because he doesn’t say anything more.  He really is hard to read, isn’t he?  That tiny hint of engaged interest he showed before is gone, his expression more withdrawn and thoughtful as they finish cleaning up.

You try to help, but Hawke keeps distracting you- they really can chatter, and before long, they have you laughing helplessly.  Isabela and Merrill slip out first, you say your goodbyes, promising to see them (apparently both of them!) on Saturday night.

Fenris and Aveline leave together, talking about something to do with squatters’ rights, they both thank you for your hospitality.  Then Hawke drags Bethany out, reminding you about next weekend, and, apparently some sort of dinner you’re expected to go to.

Before you get a chance to ask what the heck they’re talking about, the Hawkes are gone, too, leaving you with an empty, but clean apartment.

That could have gone a _lot_ worse.

You open your door to let the kittens out if they want to get the lay of the land more, and check your kitchen floor- the adhesive seems to be holding.  You feel very accomplished.  It was a very busy day, but you managed to get through it, and make some new acquaintances, besides!

It’s late, but you don’t work until the afternoon tomorrow.  You could stay up for an hour or so before bed.

 

* * *

 

 

**Check in with Sera about the Fen’harel business.**

You text Sera, but she just directs you to a website.  You know the website itself, of course, everyone’s heard of it, it’s just one of those social news aggregate and discussion sites.  It turns out, a couple of the top discussions today in the art forum are all about Fen’harel.

Weird.

You were under the impression that this gallery thing was sort of a small bit of business- something the fans would care about, but not many other people.  Apparently you underestimated the power of the internet.  One of them even made it to the front page today, which is a big deal.

It turns out that friend of a friend of a friend of Sera’s?  

Some sort of big name art history professor.  You read up on his stuff a bit, especially a piece called ‘Voice of the Streets: The Art of Sociopolitical Discontent’.  It’s…interesting, actually.  Fascinating, and really cool to learn about- but not super relevant.

But he’s on the bandwagon, apparently, and with professorial authority has basically dismissed the entire gallery of paintings as being fake.  That’s big, and even if the comments on the post are for the most part garbage (c’mon, you know better than to read internet comments), it seems like a lot of people agree.

A lot of people think he’s an arrogant ass talking out of his butt, but it’s something.  Sera seems pleased as punch.  Half of you thinks tomorrow everyone will have forgotten about it, though, but you don’t have the heart to tell her that when she calls you.

It’s something.

It’s a start.

Unfortunately, one dismissal probably isn’t enough to do any damage.  Hopefully Sera won’t wake up tomorrow to find the whole world’s forgotten.

You ask her what the next step is. 

She tells you the next step is to find proof.  You were sort of hoping that you’d already done that, but nope, apparently not.  She wants you to help her get some sort of interview with this Florianne de Chalons, apparently.

But you’ll talk about that tomorrow.  You say goodnight, make sure the cats have food and know how to find it, and then head to bed.

 

 

##  **End of Day 4**

 

 

 


	5. Thursday, 1st of Umbralis

You meant to sleep in today, wake up about nine.  It turns out, that doesn’t work when you have kittens.  Instead, Fen decides to claw his way up onto your bed at about seven in the morning, and tries to nurse on your earlobe.  It might be cute, except he pulls your hair and has sharp little teeth and a very rough tongue.

You manage to get him off of you and settled down to get an ear scratch, hopefully to drift off again, but it seems like Atisha can’t get up on the bed herself, and starts crying pathetically.

Welcome to pet ownership.

Giving in, you get up, take them into the kitchen for their morning wet food, and try to figure out what to do with yourself.

It’s almost eight in the morning, and you have work from two to ten.  You don’t have any messages, but that’s not exactly surprising this early.  You make yourself a simple breakfast, realizing someone left some beer and a full bottle of wine in your fridge, and a bag of chips on your counter.

Hey, free stuff.  That was nice of them.

 

* * *

 

 

**Maybe some writing?  It’s nice to have some free time to do it. &  Let’s go out and get coffee.**

 

Deciding that it can’t be much of a story without a coffee shop somewhere in it, you take a shower, get changed, and pack up your laptop.  Remembering how cold it was yesterday, you bundle up well, especially with damp hair.  

You take one last look around to make sure there’s no dangers to the cats, and then head on out.  The air cuts the back of your nose as you breathe it in, stepping outside, sharp and scented with frost.  The grass glitters with a soft shell of it, crunching when you step on some crossing the block and heading up.

The sky is an unrelenting gray, but soft and pearly rather than heavy.  There’s no breaks in the clouds, but there’s just a hint of watery sunlight.  The shop is unsurprisingly busy when you reach it, but most people are taking their orders and leaving.  The only people lingering at the tables are all sitting with their computers, ostensibly working.

Not unlike you, you suppose.

When you enter the warmth makes your cheeks instantly flush, fingers still cold, but face quickly heating.  You make your way to the back of the line, stepping in behind a man with an arm full of what looks like flyers.  You wait patiently, breathing in coffee and unwinding the scarf from around your neck.  

You turn your attention to the menu, relieved to see that like most places, their black coffee is cheap enough.  It gives you the caffeine you need, and enough excuse to take up one of their tables.  When things are better for your bank account, you can always make up for it.

You’re absorbed in reading the sign when a harried woman in a suit with her hands full of drinks slams into your side, setting you off balance.  You stumble, and she babbles an apology without stopping, rushing out the door without a second glance.  

Clutching at your bag protectively, you stagger back a step, only to find a hand catching your elbow long enough to keep you upright.  You regain your balance, and it instantly leaves, politely letting go of you.

You look up, into what might be the most brilliantly clear blue pair of eyes you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Are you all right?”  The man in front of you in line asks, with a thick brogue.

 

* * *

 

 

**Yes, I am!  Thank you.**

 

“You are very welcome.”  He says, and you share a smile.

Your eyes are naturally drawn to the pile of papers drooping over your arm, and even upside-down as they are, you’re able to make them out.  They look like flyers for a clothing drive.  He notices you looking, and offers one to you with a smile.

You take it, and look it over.  Some sort of Chantry thing.

“It’s a difficult time of year, for a lot of people.”  He tells you, both of you moving as the line heads towards the counter, “It’s going to be a bit of a rough winter.”

“It is getting cold pretty fast.”  You agree, thinking of the frost on the ground this morning, “Are there a lot of homeless people here in the city?”

“Kirkwall has always had some problems.”  He says, voice even and calm.  Between that and the accent, he’s pretty nice to listen to.  “One person without a home is too many.  The Chantry does what it can, but even a Sister only has two hands.”

 

* * *

 

 

**I’ll hold onto this, if that’s okay with you?**

 

“Of course.”  He says, tipping his head to you, “It is nice to have someone interested.  I beg your pardon, I’ve been rude.  Sebastian Vael.”

You take his hand briefly and make your interruption, but don’t have time for much else, because he’s at the head of the line now.  He gives you a smile and turns back to make his order, and then it’s your turn.

Like before, you just get a black coffee, and it’s little enough that the small amount of cash you have on hand takes care of it.

It’s pretty brisk, the people behind the counter are pleasant in a local coffee hipster sort of way, but this is obviously the busy time of day.  They want you moving as quickly as possible.

Once you pay you step to the side, trying not to crowd the counter.

“I could give you a few more flyers.”  Sebastian abruptly offers, taking his coffee from the counter, balancing the stack of papers as he steps back, “If you wanted, to give out, or put up somewhere.  It would be a great help, a gift of time is just as valuable as any.  If not, of course, I understand.”

You watch, slightly bemused, as he tries to tuck the papers under his arm to uncap his coffee, stepping to the side table.

 

* * *

 

 

**I think you need more hands.  Here, hand them over.**

 

****

“Thank you.”  He says, giving a faintly flustered laugh as you pull the pile of papers out from under his arm before they can fall onto the floor, “I appreciate your kindness.”

Your coffee comes up, but you just grab it for the moment, rather than try and do the dance Sebastian just did.  You wait patiently as he opens his coffee and adds cinnamon and sugar to it, capping it again before turning back to you.

“There, I believe I’m settled.”  He says, gratefully taking the stack of papers back from you.  “Thank you again.”

“It’s not a problem.”  You assure him, folding up the flyer he gave you and tucking it into a pocket of your bag, now that you can manage to do it.  “Just a second out of my day, but a big pain for you if you drop them.”

“If only more people thought that way.”  He says in his thick Starkhaven brogue, nodding to you with another warm smile.

 

* * *

 

 

**I’ll take a few more flyers.  I work across from the mall, I’m sure I can find some places that would want one.**

 

Gratefully he hands you a dozen or so flyers, which you tuck carefully into your laptop bag to keep them from getting rumpled.  You’re both a bit in the way of people getting their coffee together, so you say your goodbyes, and Sebastian heads out of the shop and into the street.

There’s no empty tables, unfortunately, but plenty of open seats.  Finally you settle down at the long, tall table facing the window.  It’s a little colder than the rest of the shop, but it’s plenty warm in here, and you can watch the street while you write.

It’s a nice little shop, no annoying music going to interrupt you, just lots of people at their computers drinking coffee and typing away.  You get a decent amount done in the next two hours- though you maybe make use of the shop’s wi-fi as well and do some internet browsing.

It’s ten in the morning now, your coffee’s just a small dribble in the bottom of your cup, and there’s still plenty of people here.  They don’t seem to be the kind of place that makes people uncomfortable for hanging around.

Still, you’ve been hanging out here on a two dollar cup of coffee for a while.

 

* * *

 

 

**Let’s go for a walk around the neighborhood.**

 

Packing up your laptop, you throw your cup in the composting trash and head out of the coffee shop.  When you leave, you realize that Sebastian and his flyers must have already been up and down this street- there’s no need for you to put up the ones you have here.

It’s barely warmed up enough to melt the frost, the air still cold enough that you need to wrap up securely.  Brisk, but walking quickly keeps you warm.

And, hey, it’s exercise.

You wander down a few blocks, past a market, a couple small offices, a dentist and a real estate agent.  Nothing too exciting, maybe a boutique here and there.  The further in this direction you go, the more commercial things are getting, eventually you come to a corner without an apartment building on it.  

You notice a few cheap looking restaurants that are probably worth remembering, and a place that’s either a dive bar or a hipster pub- you really can’t tell from here.  It might be both.

Further down the road, you see bigger buildings, what looks like a chantry, something square and brick on the left side that might be a small school, or a library.  You seem to remember, if you keep going a few blocks, there’s another grocery store, and the craft store.

What should we do?

 

* * *

 

 

**Maybe it’s a library, we really should get a card.  Let’s go there.**

 

At the intersection you cross the street, still keeping an eye on your surroundings in search of anything interesting.  Nothing’s jumping out at you, but as you approach the plain-looking building, you realize that it is in fact a small branch library.  That would explain the lack of school zone signs.

Turning into the drive, you head up the sidewalk, peeking into the windows as you pass.  The childrens’ section is by the windows, and it looks like its story time.  That looks like fun.  Maybe they’re looking for volunteers?

You open the door, holding it for an elderly couple before slipping in yourself, immediately surrounded by warmth and the smell of books.

_Mmmh._

You take a second, breathe it in, and then head for the circular desk sitting smack dab in the middle of the entry.  It’s so small it only has two self-check scanners, and there’s two women sitting at the actual desks.

The woman you approach has a name plaque sitting in front of her.  

_‘Minaeve’_

She looks up, and nods very slightly as you approach.  You return the nod, with a smile.

“How can I help you?”  She asks pleasantly.

 

* * *

 

 

**I need to get a library card. & Does the library accept volunteers?  I’m studying library science at the university.**

 

“I need to get a card.”  You tell her, fishing out your wallet.  “I need proof of address, right?”

“That’s right.”  She agrees with a nod, “If you have those things it won’t take any time at all.”

Luckily, you don’t clean out your bag that often, and there’s a bank statement at the bottom of it.  You did request paperless, but apparently that doesn’t stop them from sending random junk to your apartment.  She takes it, and your ID, and then leans down to pull out a form for you.

“You can just step to the side and fill it out here.”  She invites, passing you a pen with your card and envelope.

“Thank you.”  You say, beginning to deftly fill out the form- it feels like since you moved, a few times a week there’s something else that needs to be done, so you’re used to it.

All of the university paperwork took forever.

“I’m studying library science over at the university.”  You offer, as you scribble away, “Are there any volunteering opportunities?”

“You are?”  She asks, with a hint of surprise, “I don’t hear that very often.  You can check the district website, but I expect there are, especially this time of year.”

“Website.  Got it.”  You confirm, and go back to writing.

“Are you enjoying the program?”  Minaeve asks, suddenly wistful, “I miss the university, myself.  I keep telling myself I’ll go back, but there just hasn’t been a chance.”

“I enjoyed my old one.  I actually just transferred?”  You say, glancing up as you finish filling out the form, passing it over.  “But I’m looking forward to it.”

“You’ll enjoy yourself.”  She assures, fishing out a card for you from a stack, spinning in her seat to face the computer.  “The program here is wonderful.”

It doesn’t take long to set up your card, and you make sure to sign it before heading into the library proper.  It’s not terribly big, as you noticed before, but tall bookshelves make walls to block out your line of sight.

It looks like fiction is over to your left, a few people among the books.  At the end of the shelves, it looks like the romance novels have been stacked into turning racks instead of being shelved, which would make discreetly browsing them difficult.  That’s a bit mean.  

Non-fiction is off to the right, with the reference section near it.  You can faintly hear an argument from that direction, in the low tones of people trying, and failing, to be quiet.  

In the center are the standing desks with the library’s computers.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Let’s go head towards non-fiction.**

 

Feeling curious about more than just books, you follow the faint sound of disagreement that leads you into non-fiction.  Reference is next to the shelves of biographies, and you’re naturally drawn to it.  Who wouldn’t be?  Big, old, leather-bound books.  The best kind.

This is a small library, so they don’t have anything particularly exciting, but at one of the big desks you see a dark-haired man arguing with what appears to be a…stack of books?

Er…

Just when you’re starting to worry about his sanity, another voice pipes up, and you step to the left a little.  A dwarven woman was standing behind it, apparently.  Where the man looks frustrated, she just looks cheerful, laughing to herself as he jabs a finger at a page.

“…Will make it explode!”  He finishes, as you shamelessly eavesdrop, heading for one of the shelves.

“I don’t know.  I think I could do it!”  The dwarven woman replies, laughter in her cheerful voice, “Not the exploding, well…I could do that too.  But if you don’t want it to explode, I think I could probably keep it stable.”

“Of course I don’t want it to explode!  That is the basis of this entire conversation, since you seem to have forgotten.”  The man replies, humor creeping into his exasperated voice as he turns back to the book, “Why I agreed to work on this with you…”

“It could be fun!  Where’s…that copy of the journal of materials science and engineering?”  The woman asks, leafing through a pile of periodicals on the desk.  “There was something I wanted to show you…”

“You’re going to set the house on fire.”  The man groans, closing his eyes, “I knew this was a bad idea.  Can we just check out and leave, please?”

“Okay, but…”  The woman says, still hunting around, “If it _does_ work, Dorian, we’re going to have the prettiest holiday decorations on the block!”

“And if it doesn’t, Dagna, we’ll all be dead.”  He retorts, flatly.

You realize you’ve been staring at the same shelf for the last couple minutes, blinking and glancing aside.  Under the nearby desk, you think you see what the woman must be looking for, some sort of science periodical.

 

* * *

 

 

**Sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear, but is that what you’re looking for? &   If you’re gonna blow up the library, can you give me a heads up?  I gotta find my sunglasses.**

 

 

“I would say there isn’t a chance of that happening, but one never knows with her.”  Dorian tells you, as Dagna gives a faint ‘aha’ and ducks under the desk.

“There isn’t anything here I could use to produce an explosion!”  Dagna protests from under the desk, grabbing the journal and flipping it open.

“I don’t believe that for a minute.”  Dorian says, closing one of the books in the pile next to him.

They look like pretty dense books.  Science of some sort, there’s some theoretical physics stuff in there, among others.

“Well…we’d have to find a way to grind the books, really fine?  Into dust.  There’s plenty of atmospheric oxygen…”  Dagna says musingly, flipping open the journal and leafing through it, “Then all we need would be something to start the explosion, an ignition source.  Something that sparks.  Plenty of electronics around, so…I guess it’s true!  I could blow up the library!”

“How reassuring.”  Dorian says, dryly.

You have a feeling this sort of conversation happens a lot.

 

* * *

 

 

**And here I got into library science because I thought it was _safe_.**

 

“Academia is never safe.”  Dorian informs you dryly, and then finally smiles when you grin at him, “Do you go to the university, then?  I’ve never seen you around, have I?”

“Just starting this spring.  I’m a transfer.”  You explain, and he gives a faint ‘ah’.

Whatever he might be ready to say in response is interrupted, as Dagna gives a loud exclamation, jabbing a finger at the page.  

“There, see?”  She declares, cheerfully.

Dorian leans over, and you take a peek yourself, but it’s both upside down and indecipherably scientific.  Neither of them seem to be bothered by you poking your nose in.

“Let’s just stick with the ice, shall we?  I don’t know if I’m more terrified by the idea that you might succeed, or the idea that you might fail.”  Dorian suggests at last, reaching up and pulling off his thick-framed glasses, wiping them with the sleeve of his sweater.  “Have you thought of a way to keep it from melting?”

“If we add salt to the water and boil it before freezing it, it should lower the freezing point.”  Dagna says, excitedly, quite easily distracted, “Using LED lights, on top of being programmable, will lower the temperature significantly, which hopefully means minimum melting!”

“Good, because I’m not spending three days making ice blocks for you just for them to all melt!”  He snaps, but good naturedly, lifting a wrist to check his watch after sliding his glasses back on.  “I have to work in an hour, we really should be checking out.”

You’re all ready to slip back and step away, when Dagna turns her attention to you, beaming a smile as she stacks up her books.

“So you haven’t started yet?”  She asks, and when you shake your head, continues on, “Have you taken a tour yet?  You really should, it can be _really_ easy to get lost.  We’re on break, but I’d be happy to show you around, I’m always in the lab so I’m there anyways.”

“Even though they keep telling her to go home.”  Dorian interjects, picking up an armload of books.

 

* * *

 

 

**Really?  Wow, that’d be amazing of you.**

 

Somehow, you end up getting swept up with the pair of them as they head for the front of the library, Dagna chattering away with the occasional aside from Dorian.  She really is enthusiastic, easy to get pulled along by her.

By the time you’ve checked out, you’ve found out that they live just up the street, a couple blocks from you, that Dorian works at the mall, Dagna just works at the university, and that one time she melted the toaster oven.

When they leave, you exchange information with Dagna and say goodbye, watching them banter their way out and up the street.

It’s nice to know people that live nearby, especially people that go to the university.

 

It’s just past eleven, and it looks like you have a couple text messages waiting for you, one from Cole, and one from Carver.  What do you want to do?

 

* * *

 

 

**Let’s head home.   If we want to go to the mall before work to put up flyers, we need to have lunch and get ready to go.**

 

Leaving the library behind, card secured, you turn to head back up to your apartment.  Along the way you keep an eye out for where Dagna and Dorian said they live.  You think it might be two blocks down and one block over from your building.  

You text Cole when you’re not crossing the street, the message you open up to being a very serious-looking iguana perched on what you assume is Cole’s knee.  The iguana is wearing a blue and purple knit hat.  With a puff ball on top.  And ear flaps, despite it not having ears.

_Okay, that’s adorable._

 

_ _

 

You chat with Cole a little while longer, and find out he’s heading in to work.  Maybe you’ll catch him before work- you certainly won’t be bumping into anyone afterwards.  That’s the thing about evening shifts, not really any time to do anything after.  Well, except tomorrow night.

You _still_ don’t actually know what you’re going to be doing, and you have a feeling if you asked Solas, he wouldn’t tell you.

You make it home after another pleasantly brisk walk, grab your mail, and head on up to make some lunch and pack a dinner.  If you’re going to be frugal, after all, might as well be smart about it.  You spend some time with the kittens, noticing that they seem to be more comfortable wandering around outside of your bedroom.

You work at two, and it’s around noon.

 

* * *

 

 

**We might as well head in now.  Let’s text Carver back and see if he can meet us to shop for Bethany.**

 

You check your messages from Carver as you eat lunch.  Apparently he heard you had people over last night, and wanted to complain about his elder sib a bit.  It seems like maybe they don’t get along that well.

You text him back, checking where he’s at, and you find out he’s working.  Apparently they’re pretty busy this time of year, lots of parents dropping their kids in the arcade and going shopping.  Yuck.  Sounds like chaos.

He seems to be fine with taking his break when you get there, so you arrange to meet him at Freddy Fennic’s.

Once the kittens have been cuddled, and you make sure they have everything they need, you pack up your dinner and head back out again.

By the time you reach the mall, parking at work and then crossing the street, the holiday shoppers are starting to fill up the lot again.  You can’t imagine how bad working this weekend is, let alone next, considering the holiday starts a week from Monday here.

Crossing back, you decide to duck into the food court rather than walking around outside.  There’s a lot of muddy water in the parking lot, and you don’t want to chance wet socks all night at work.  Unfortunately, when you push through the doors and head on in, the food court is _packed._

Navigating through the crowds, assaulted by smells and elbows on all sides, you fight your way through gradually.  Hopefully Carver isn’t getting impatient.

Eventually, you pop out of the crush like a cork from a bottle, onto the main thoroughfare and into the shops and holiday lights again.  

Freddy Fennic’s is down a ways, and this time you see that there’s actually a line, an impatient-looking one at that.  A birthday party, maybe?  All the kids look about the same age.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Let’s just head to the store, text Carver to meet us there.  You know what Bethany wants.**

 

Rather than attempting to ford your way into kiddie funtime hell, you text Carver to meet you on over at Antivan Exports and turn to head that way.  It’s still a harrowing journey full of people awkwardly trying to get out of each other’s ways and being bashed by shopping bags, but at least it doesn’t come with tiny pointy elbows jabbing into your kidneys.

Bath stuff.  She wants some bath stuff, and you know they have all those fun little bath beads and scented stuff there.  Putting together a basket would work well, and they probably have baskets there, too.

It’s that kinda place.

Carver texts you back that he’ll meet you there, once he’s managed to grab something to eat on the go.  You’ve got a little time before work, so it’s not really a big deal.

Absorbed in your phone and the dance of the crowded shopping mall, you don’t realize until you’re there that the store is…uh…closed?

 

All the more shocking considering how busy the mall is, you stare at the heavily gated front of the shop, glancing to your left and right.  The inside of the store is dark, and there’s a laminated notice stuck to the front of the shop.

_What the hell?_

“If you are looking to do some shopping today, I am sorry to tell you that you have come to the wrong place.”  A somewhat familiar voice says from behind you.

Turning, phone in hand, you face down Zevran standing behind the counter of a kiosk, chin in his hands, a pair of sunglasses hiding his eyes.  He frees a hand and hooks a pinky into them, pulling them down his nose as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“We…have met, yes?  I never forget a pretty face.”

 

* * *

 

 

**If you never forget, you should know the answer to that, shouldn’t you?**

 

“Ah.  An excellent point.”  Zevran agrees, grin turning cocky, “As you more than meet the requirements for being unforgettable.”

“Mhmm.”  You reply with a smile, and then shake your head and laugh, “You’re good, I have to say.”

“I have always thought so.”  Zevran agrees, pushing up from the counter, “The shop is closed until they can bring in people from the other stores, likely not more than a day, it is a bad time of year to be without business.”

“What happened?”  You ask, glancing over your shoulder again.

“I ah…would not want to delve too deeply.”  Zevran says, voice surprisingly dark.  When you glance back at him, surprised, the momentary frown disappears, replaced by a casual smile, “I would not worry about it.  The store will be open again soon for all of your…shopping needs.”

Your phone buzzes, and you glance down at it briefly.  Looks like Carver’s on his way.

 

* * *

 

 

**Your friend Leliana that worked at the store…is she all right?**

 

“That rather depends on who you ask, I think.”  Zevran says, evading the question rather obviously.  “It is, however, kind of you to ask.  I cannot say much more than that.”

Hmm.  That’s a bit odd of an answer.  Curiously, you rev yourself up for another attempt at questioning, but are interrupted by the sound of your name being called.  Half turning, you lift a hand to Carver.

“The shop’s closed.”  You tell him as he approaches, hair a mess, expression a bit harried.  You see out of the corner of your vision, Zevran turning away to another side of the counter.

“What?”  Carver asks, expression immediately turning dark, “You have got to be…what the hell are we going to do?”

“Relax.”  You assure, turning your attention to your phone, finding the list, “We’ll just move to the next thing on the list, um…how do you feel about buying her clothes?”

“No way.”  Carver denies instantly, shaking his head.

“Oookay…then how about…”  You say, scrolling down the list, “We can get her a boxed set of that show she’s been watching?”

“It’s cheaper to buy digital copies.”  Carver denies.

You close your eyes and wish for patience.

 

* * *

 

 

**Okay, fine.  Where do _you_ want to go?**

 

“I asked you be…”  Carver says, frowning, and then sighs and runs his hand through his hair, stopping himself, “Right, sorry, I asked for your help.”

“He gets it.”  You joke, and then smile when he rolls his eyes, “No, but seriously, where do you want to go?”

“I really don’t know.”  He confesses, following you as you head down to the intersection, weaving through the crowd.

“Well, okay.  I have a list, but she is _your_ sister.  Your twin sister.”  You say, wracking your brain, “So you can’t do fashion, or what have you, but you do know her.  Maybe we just have to find something that’s you…for her.  Is there anything she’s been into lately?”

“I don’t see her nearly enough lately.”  He grouses, rubbing his hand through his hair again, tousling it, “We always seem to be opposite shifts, working extra right now, and university’s starting again soon.”

You take a second to think about it as you both head towards the large hulking store at the very end of the thoroughfare.  C.J. Theirin’s isn’t nearly as fancy as Valmont, but it’s still a perfectly nice department store.  They’re not strictly clothes and sundries, either, they’ve got housewares and appliances and everything.

“So…get something that will help you two spend time together?”  You suggest, glancing over as you both pass the record shop.

“What, like take her fishing?  To a ball game?”  Carver asks dubiously, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Or something you might both like.”  You point out, and this time his noise is less annoyed, and more thoughtful.

 

* * *

 

 

**Let’s see what’s going on at the theaters downtown?  You know how much she loves that stuff.  There might be concerts, too.**

 

****

“Like a musical?”  Carver asks, only sounding a little dismayed.

“You say that like you know there’s one you want to go to.”  You tease, and at his frown, grin, “Yep, I thought so.  But…oh, I guess it might be out of your budget?”

You both pause at the corner of the intersection before the department store, outside the shiny chrome and red Templar Wireless.  While you wait, you glance over his shoulder at the fountain, glittering lights hanging above it.  It looks really pretty, and the roar of the water is more soothing than the constant noise of the crowd.  Carver shifts restlessly, thinking, and then finally sighs and shrugs.

“It’s more than I wanted to spend.”  He says, and then shakes his head,  “But it’s for Bethany, and I owe her for some pretty bad presents.”

“Maybe your family could help?”  You suggest, “Or at least buy a restaurant gift certificate or something, so she can use both presents together?”

“Maybe…”  He says, lifting his shoulders, “Maybe not.  I’m sorry, I dragged you out here and made a complete mess of it.  This is how I ended up here in the first place.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Hey, at least you figured something out, right?  Time not wasted.**

 

“I guess that’s true…”  Carver says, and then smiles wryly, “You’re not as annoying as I thought you were.”

“Annoying!”  You protest, shoving his shoulder as he starts laughing at you, “Oh, I see how it is, I come and try to help you, and you treat me like crap.  Well, see if I help you again!”

Rocking back on a foot, Carver grins at you, laughter tapering off.

“Well, it’s not a total loss, now I know what to get her for her birthday.”  You decide, closing the list at last and tucking away the phone.

“What are you gonna get me?”  Carver asks, and then glances over your shoulder, “The people in the store are eyeing us, probably gonna shoo us off.”

You push off of the wall, and you both start wandering back the way you came, passing by the fountain in the intersection again.

“I’m not going to get you anything.”  You say, teasingly, “Because I’m annoying.  Who the heck has their birthday that close to a holiday, anyways?  You should find someone to complain to.”

“Tell me about it.”  Carver agrees, glancing down at his watch, “Hey, I should get back to work.”

“You seriously only allotted a half hour to this?”  You ask him, dubiously, “What, did you think I’m a wizard or something?”

“I was just going to give you some cash and ask you to do it.”  He admits, and then grins and flinches as you gape at him.

“You ass!”  You declare, fighting back a smile, “That’s it, get out of my sight!”

“You’re not even going to walk me back?”  He asks with pretend offense. 

 

* * *

 

 

**Yes I will, but only so you don’t buy Bethany something hideous on the way back.**

 

You walk Carver back to his work, picking on each other the whole way.  Okay, maybe he’s not so bad.  He _does_ like to complain, but the more you get to know him, the more you realize that underneath it he’s actually pretty fun.  Luckily he’s not going in through the front door, you actually both go out the side entrance next to Freddy Fennic’s.  There’s an employee door around the back.

You can tell it’s the employee entrance, because the concrete around it is littered with cigarette butts.

After saying goodbye, you check the time.  Not enough of it to do anything else, not without risking being late for work.  Maybe you’re not the most punctual person alive, but you do try to take work seriously.

So, you leave the crowded mall behind, starting your trek across to work.

 

Desire’s Dungeon has a couple customers, people idly browsing when you push in through the front door.  Sera’s at the counter, chin on her hand, but she brightens from her scowl when you enter.

“There you are!  Wonderin’ when you’d get here.”  She says.

You pause, check your phone again, and then glance back up at her.

“I’m early.”  You reply, and she scoffs, “Did I miss something?”

“No!  I got to tell you something!”  She replies, following after you as you head for the back of the shop, “I tried to talk to some people today, yeah?  Get ahold of that Valmont person.”

“Did you?”  You ask curiously, pulling your dinner out of your bag.

“No.  Got the run around.  Finally found her secretary, and he hung up on me!  Wouldn’t even take a friggin’ message!”  Sera grouses, heavy boots clomping.

“Okay, well…”  You pass her the door as you pull it open, barely getting a glance from Miss Kitty, who’s across the room at her desk doing her nails, “Do we have any other way to get ahold of her?”

“I emailed, but nothin’.”  Sera says, leaning against the door to hold it open, folding her arms, “What about that weirdo?”

“What weirdo?”  You ask, wandering over to kneel down, opening the mini fridge, “You mean that guy we saw at the gallery?”

“Yeah.  Knows people, don’t he?  People you been _talkin’_ to?”  Sera said, a little bit provokingly, “An’ he knew a lot about Fen’harel, didn’t he?  Maybe he knows somethin’.”

 

* * *

 

 

**I guess I could, but do you really think that’s a lead?**

 

“It’s all we got, unless you know a way to get into Halamshiral.”  Sera says, and then squints at the blank look you give her, “Halamshiral?”

“Er…nope, sorry.”  You confess, closing the fridge and rising, trying to rack your brain, “Wait, is that the big Satinalia party thing?”

“It’s where they _hold_ th’party, yeah.”  Sera says, scoffing a little, “Big Valmont thing, innit?“

“It’s a…charity thing, right?”  You ask, and then glance at Miss Kitty, “Can I clock in early?”

“Only if you work.”  Kitty gravels idly, blowing on her nails.

“Yes ma’am.”  You say, turning to the time clock after hanging up your outerwear and bag, “I’ll organize up the DVDs.”

“By genre, not alphabetical!”  She reminds you, and you sigh and follow after Sera.

The genres don’t even make any _sense._ You could do a much better job of organizing if she’d just let you!

“Big party would be a good chance t’get all the stuff we need.  They stay there an’ everything, it’s like a big old castle.”  Sera tells you, trailing after you as you cross the floor.

“Yeah, okay, let’s find a way to go to the fancy party people pay tens of thousands of dollars to get to, and do some breaking an entering.” You say, deadpan.

“Well, you don’t gotta be an arse, I was just sayin’.”  Sera sighs, “Fuck it, all dead ends, ain’t it?”

 

* * *

 

 

**Sorry, I was just teasing.  I know this is hard.  Let’s just try to think of something…smaller?**

 

“Smaller.”  Sera agrees, but grudgingly, heading back to the counter as you move to the DVD racks.

“I’ll ask Solas.”  You say, trying not to sigh over what a mess the racks are.

Seriously, people act like this place is a trash can!  Okay, so maybe a porn shop isn’t exactly high end retail, but they could try to be a _little_ respectful.  You start organizing the racks, stacking cases in the crook of your arm.

“Gotta keep making a fuss.”  Sera decides, slapping both hands down on the counter, “That’s the thing.  Keep making a fuss till someone says somethin’.  You stay quiet and people forget.”

You remember your thoughts from yesterday, how worried you were that she’d find out nobody cared any more.  Maybe you underestimated Sera.

“What could you do?”  You ask, putting the copy of Vicky does Val Royeaux back in its spot.  “More internet posts?”

“Nah.  Bigger.”  Sera says, suddenly sounding inspired, voice rising in pitch and volume, “Like…like Fen’harel big.  Paint the walls big.”

 

* * *

 

 

**I don’t know, Sera…isn’t that dangerous?**

 

It’s a bit scary, the whole idea of randomly spray painting walls just to try and…what?  Call out a street artist no one’s heard from in years?  Never mind that it might work, what if you get caught?

Police probably don’t care if you were ‘just helping’.

“Yeah, but…”  Sera starts, still excitedly.  There’s a pause, and you watch her expression change, and she visibly deflates, “Yeah.  You’re right.”

“Sorry.”  You apologize, lifting a shoulder, “I just…it _sounds_ really exciting, but life’s not really like that, is it?”

“Nah.”  She agrees, sounding less dejected than before, “Just wish it were, that’s all.”

“Yeah.”  You agree, turning back to sort a handful of videos.  “Hey, but I’ll ask Solas for you, okay?”

“Sooner would be better ‘en later.”  Sera said, voice returning to normal, “You see him much?”

You have a feeling she’s digging.

 

* * *

 

 

**Now and again.  Like I said, he’s interesting.**

 

“Right”  Sera says dubiously, and then breathes out heavily through her nose, “Well, whatever.  Just let him know.  Hey, I’m gonna count down, you finish those up?”

“Sure.”  You agree, glancing towards the door as it chimes.

It’s Tor, big and tired and uninterested-looking, as always.  He’s practically the signal for morning shift turning into evening, and he never actually looks awake. Massive hoop earrings swinging, he lurches for the office door, Sera following after with her drawer.

You organize the last couple DVDs, then head for the counter to wait for Miss Kitty.

 

Sera hangs around for a little after she clocks out, chatting, but things start to pick up and she makes a break for it.  You don’t blame her.  It’s about as busy as a regular Friday night, from what you know, which means surprisingly so.  Before you started you figured your clientele would be the occasional discreet creep, but nope!

All sorts of people come by, this time of year especially.  Even some women by themselves.  You help them out as best you can, even learn some things.  You wouldn’t exactly call this place woman-friendly, the porn selection is _abysmal_ , but at least women feel comfortable coming here, which is nice.

Around seven Tor finally does something besides looking big and tired, and shoos you towards the back office to eat your dinner.  You’re not going to have time for much after work besides a shower and some kitten time, so if you want to do anything more, you’ll have to do it now.

 

* * *

 

 

**Text Solas**

 

Steeling yourself, you continue eating your rice and chicken and pull out your phone.  You can do this.  It’s to help Sera, after all, and you did kinda stomp all over her enthusiasm there.  Granted, you don’t want her to go to jail, so…

Eating with one hand, texting with the other, you swallow your nervousness and ask for Solas’ help.

 

 

Gratefully, you leave it at that.  You’ll see him tomorrow, after all, and there’s no need to be a pest.  Him helping at all is more than you expected.  The side-track interrogation is probably what you should have expected, but a break’s only so long.

If he wants to do that, he can do it tomorrow.

 

The rest of your night goes smoothly, and you’re out the door by a quarter after ten.  It would be ten, but Tor’s under orders to walk everyone to their car, so you have to wait for him to finish up with the safe.

You’re home a bit before eleven- hard not to worry about the roads, even with new tires, so you drive a little slower than usual.  Immediately upon getting home it’s cat time.  For some reason they’ve decided it’s Crazy O’clock, and they’re thundering awkwardly around the apartment and attacking each other (and your feet).

It’s late, but like yesterday, you don’t work until the afternoon.  You could stay up for a while with the little loons, maybe watch something or poke around on the internet, and then sleep in come morning.

 

##  **END OF DAY 5**

 

 

 


	6. Friday, 2nd of Umbralis

You end up in bed about twelve thirty, and have the foresight to move the laundry basket to make a mini-staircase up to your bed.  You don’t need to be woken up by pathetic mewling in the middle of the night because Atisha can’t figure out how to climb up.  It seems to work, because once you’re settled in, Fen climbs his way up and stomps all over you for a little while before bouncing off again.

They let you sleep, which is nice.

Still, when you wake up around eight thirty, it’s because someone is kneading tiny kitten claws into your arm.  You should probably get them a nice scratching post at some point.  Speaking of, hey, it’s pay day!

Bless direct deposit, right?

So, you had about a hundred bucks (yikes) left in your account after your rent was withdrawn, and now you have about nine hundred fifty bucks.  Your rent is paid for the month, but because you’re super responsible and adult, you immediately tick off four hundred of that for the next month’s rent, like you do every pay period.  That leaves you with five fifty, and four hundred bucks in car payments waiting for you.

_Eyes glazing over yet?_

You’ve got six months to pay off four hundred bucks.  Your bills are paid through your rent, which is eight hundred a month.  You’ve got the basics of food covered for the next month or so, as long as you don’t get tired of rice and beans and frozen meat…listen, the gist of it is, your hardcore adulting is paying off.

You weren’t planning to buy any holiday gifts, but…you actually might be able to now, if you wanted to.

Still, money stuff can wait.  Time to heave your butt out of bed, or not.

 

* * *

 

**Remember those flyers?  We should get ourselves ready for work and for tonight, and then head to the mall.**

 

You get yourself up, obediently bringing Atisha, who seems to consider being carried in the crook of your arm her rightful position, as she happily claw-massages your forearm into submission.  If she wasn’t purring so happily, you might be annoyed.

As a new kitten owner, your arms already look like you’ve been attacked by the world’s smallest serial killer anyways, what’s a few more marks?

All three of you have breakfast, you handle the necessary kitten chores, and then you hop in the shower (they’re having none of that).  By the time you get that handled, it’s about a quarter after nine, and you’re left with a vital decision.

You’re leaving directly from work tonight to who knows where.  Apart from the fight of ‘is this a date or not’, you literally don’t know where you’re going to end up.  How do you know what’s appropriate to wear?

* * *

 

 

**Let’s go semi-casual, but nice.  A nice sweater, and the pants that make your butt look good, boots.   A little makeup.**

****

You’re conflicted, but in the end decide that you’d rather be safe than sorry.  Besides, the sweater’s cute, your butt looks good, and even if you’re not overdoing the makeup, you can at least fuss with your hair a bit.  You can always dress up tomorrow if you feel like it.

And, really, you have to work beforehand, so…

You still toss some makeup in your bag, and then make food for work.  A little on the big side, but you are going to be gone over lunch.  You’re ready to head out, it’s just before ten, and you have about a dozen flyers in your bag.  

You say goodbye to the kittens, bundle up well, and head out.  The sky’s clear, which means it’s colder than ever, the frost spiky with frost.  And…so is your car.  You hustle to it and huddle into your seat, praying for the heater to start working.  Luckily it’s just frost, which melts quickly enough once you turn the defrost on.

No need to go scrape the windshield, at least not yet.

You head out, trying to figure out where you’re going to start your mission of charity.

* * *

 

 

**Let's go to Red Jenny**

 

Deciding to go with the easiest one first, you park near the middle south entrance and head in.  The movie theater’s across the way as you head in with the crowd, and you glance over the sign as you let yourself be pulled along.  Lots of big blockbusters this time of year.  

The holiday music is sort of assaulting you on all sides- the faint sound of mall piano frequently eclipsed by the stuff blaring at you out of shops.  Well, most shops.  One of the ones you pass by is pretty much dead quiet, and surprisingly dark.  The sign you glance at reads ‘The Wilds’.  Did you notice it before?  Hard to say, this isn’t where you usually come in.

It looks interesting from what you can see.

Maybe there will be time to go poke your nose in later, or another time.

You turn the corridor and head down the main drag, noticing when you pass by it that Antivan Exports is still closed.  You cross the corridor obliquely, making right for Red Jenny.  It’s somewhat busy, but mostly with teenagers.  Fenris and someone you don’t know are at the counter, ignoring each other.  He looks tired.

You have a feeling he looks tired a lot, though, or at least world-weary.

“Hey, Fenris.”  You greet, and he looks up from a clipboard.

“Oh.  Good morning.”  He greets you, not sounding like he means the ‘good’ part.  “Shopping today, or just enjoying the sight of people wasting both money and sanity?”

“Helping out someone with some charity stuff.”  You explain, reaching into your bag and pulling out one of the flyers, approaching the counter.

* * *

 

 

**If you want I can draw some anarchy symbols on it, make it fit in.**

 

“I would laugh, but it is an unfortunate truth that it probably would help.”  Fenris says, sighing heavily as he reaches out a hand and takes the flyer.

“Hey, at least they’re predictable.”  You point out, and then grin when he rolls his eyes.

“A clothing drive?  Practical, how surprising.”  Fenris remarks half under his breath, just enough that you’re not sure if he expects you to respond or not.

“Yeah, it’s going to be a cold winter.”  You say, musing, “I should probably find a nice thrift store or something myself, get some things to donate.”

“Go to the other register.”  He orders a semi-confused looking teenage girl just about to unload her armful in front of his register.

While she stares, he leans down and grabs a tape dispenser from under his register, and then steps around the counter.  

“There are a few halfway decent thrift stores in the area.”  Fenris continues, as you trail him to the front window, “You shouldn’t have any trouble finding one.”

* * *

 

 

**Thanks, I really appreciate you doing this for me.**

 

“It takes very little effort on my part.”  He tells you, tearing down some sort of poster for a band event.  He gives it a cursory look, and then crumples it up, “And at least you asked.  Most people do not even bother to do so.”

“Well, that’s rude.”  You say, accepting the crumpled paper as he passes it to you.  

“The average person has absolutely no idea what manners are.”  Fenris says, still rather deadpan, taping up the flyer in the window, “And they don’t care to find out.”

“Hmmh.”  You say thoughtfully, following him as he turns back for the counter, “Isn’t that a bit…”

“Pessimistic?  Yes, it is.”  Fenris says, extending a hand for the crumpled paper, “Thank you for holding that.”

“You’re welcome.”  You say automatically, “Well, at least you didn’t say it was realistic.”

“I know I suffer from pessimism, and there is no such thing as being realistic.  What is reality?”  He asks rhetorically, tossing the paper in the trash, and then turning back to his register, seeming to be in no hurry to shoo you off to work, “Subjective, at best, and a delusion to stave off complete insanity at worst.”

* * *

 

 

**Do you do a lot of thinking about the nature of reality while working retail?**

 

“More than you might imagine.”  Fenris says, and then finally cracks a smile at you, reaching out to the side.

You watch in silence for a minute as he rings someone up, not even bothering to greet them.  The disinterest doesn’t seem to be unexpected, though, because the eyeliner-assaulted kid at the counter doesn’t make a peep, passing over his card without a word when Fenris extends a hand for it.

“Have you been writing much?”  He asks you, as he swipes it, making you aware that he probably doesn’t care if you keep talking while he works.

“A bit.  I spent some time at a coffee shop yesterday with my laptop.  I felt very urban.”  You joke with a small grin.

“In front of people?”  He says, sound a little uncertain, “That doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not like anyone’s looking over my shoulder reading it.”  You say, lifting your shoulders in a small shrug, “Everyone’s worried about their own stuff.”

“I suppose that is true.”  He says, but doesn’t sound terribly convinced.

* * *

 

 

**Do you write?  I’m starting to get the feeling you do.**

 

“No.”  He replies instantly, practically interrupting you.

“Well, okay then.  I was just…”

“I apologize, that was rude.”  He says, this time actually interrupting you.

You consider saying something again, but settle for crossing your arms and staring at him, tapping a foot.  He glances sidelong at you, barely managing to hide the edge of a smile.

 “And that was as well.”  He admits at last, shaking his head,  “I am sorry.”

“Forgiven.”  You say, noting that maybe that’s a bit of a sore spot.

“I would really rather not talk about that here.  I realize that I brought it up, so saying that is a bit contrary.”  Fenris says, sounding a bit less tense now, leaning a hip against the counter, “I may be a bit contrary.”

“No!”  You pretend to gasp, and then return the smile you managed to prod out of him, “I never would have guessed it.”

He picks up a discarded receipt from the sticker-encrusted countertop, crumples it up, and flicks it at your forehead.  He has pretty good aim.

* * *

 

 

**You know anywhere else that might let me put up a flyer?**

“Don’t bother with most of the chain stores.”  He instructs, thoughtfully, “Merrill will, Cole next door probably will, I would go to Josephine’s as well, the chocolate shop.  Perhaps the record store, but it is difficult to say.”

“I don’t actually know where Merrill works.”  You confess, thinking, “Do I?”

“She works at the flower shop down at the southwest entrance.  Across from the Templar.”  He instructs, “If you go down there, and then head straight north towards Valmont you’ll find a few places, and pass by the chocolate shop.”

“Got it.”  You say, nodding your head, “Thanks again for your help.”

“Thank you for caring about people who need caring about.”  He replies, gravelly voice still flat, “Most people don’t bother.  I’ll see you tomorrow night, if I feel like going.  I work late.”

“Sounds good, see you!”  You say, lifting a hand in farewell as you head off.  

You glance down at your phone as you head back out into the noise and crowd.  Almost eleven thirty.  You have until one thirty or so before you need to think seriously about heading to work.  Plenty of time, if you don’t get hung up too much.

You realize, after a few seconds, that you’re humming holiday music again.  Spending so much time in the mall _really_ gets it stuck in your head.

* * *

 

**Let’s stop in at Antediluvia, and then follow his advice and go to the flower shop.**

 

Feeling more motivated to get some of these charity flyers posted before you head to work, you pop next door.  Cole’s alone in the shop, unsurprisingly, but more surprisingly, there’s a few people browsing!  Well, hey, that’s cool.

He brightens up as he catches sight of you, lifting a hand in greeting as you wander over to the counter.

“Hi, Cole!”  You greet with a smile, “Listen, I don’t mean to be a bother, but I’m trying to get these flyers put up for a clothes drive.”  

You hand one to him, and he takes it quite seriously, gazing down at it.

“I have to work, I’m sorry I can’t help you.”  He says, a bit worriedly.

“No, no.  I was hoping it would be okay to put one up here?  Maybe in the window, or at the counter?”  You ask, and then smile when he gives a faint ‘umm’.  “If you don’t know, maybe just hang onto it and ask Solas when he gets in?”

“I can do that.”  Cole replies, relieved.  Carefully, he sets the flyer under the counter on a shelf, “I don’t think he’ll say no.”

“If he does, that’s okay.”  You assure, with a shrug of your shoulders, “It’s his shop.”

“Do you like…things like this?  Helping people?”  Cole asks, glancing at the pile of flyers still in your hand.

“When I can.  Sometimes it’s hard, and I’m new here, so…”  You say, glancing down at the flyers in your hand.

“Do you like playing card games?”

“Cards?  I…guess, sure.”  You say, with a slightly puzzled smile.

“On Sunday I go to the senior center.  Do you want to come with me?”  Cole asks you, hopefully.

* * *

 

 

**Absolutely!  Yes.  That sounds like fun.**

“I will…”  Cole starts, and then stops, flustered, when someone approaches the counter.

“I’ll text you later.”  You promise, stepping back and out of the way, “I’ve gotta keep moving, I work this afternoon.  Thanks for doing that for me!”

“You are welcome.”  Cole says with a lift of his hand.

You turn and head out, with the occasional peek into the cases.  There’s some small engraved silver mirrors that look interesting, you should ask Solas about them some time.  

With your destination in mind, you forge through the teeming crowds, ducking and weaving through people as you fight the direction of the tide and head towards an exit, not away from it.  Passing by the Templar and Mabari sport, you eventually find the small flower shop next to the entrance.  ‘Bellanaris Floral’ the top of the windows read, in a scrolling white script.  The displays are full of holiday arrangements, and Merrill is behind the counter, looking a bit flustered as she faces down a customer.

You duck in, pushing open the door with your shoulder, the warm air inside the shop beckoning you in.

“And it’s been less than a week, and they’re already dying!”  The man in front of the counter says, irritably.

“Well, sir…they’re cut flowers.”  Merrill replies, obviously confused, “That’s what…that’s what they do?   If you keep them watered and cared for they’ll last you a bit longer, but…”

“You sold me trash.  I _want_ my refund.”  He accuses, and Merrill frowns.

“Well, no, that’s not true at all.”  She contradicts, a little heatedly, “I sold you cut flowers.  Cut flowers die.  Perhaps next time you should just buy a nice potted plant.”

“They should last longer than a couple of days, don’t argue with me.  Where is your manager?”

“Well, sir, I have your order right here, and it says you picked them up over two weeks ag…”  Merrill starts, and then goes silent as the man turns around and storms out of the shop, nearly running into you.

There’s silence in the shop for a second, as the door clicks shut, before Merrill finally gives an explosive, exasperated sigh.

“Why wouldn’t he just listen?”  She asks herself, a little bit miserably.  

* * *

 

 

**Hey, Merrill, you okay?**

 

“Oh!”  Merrill exclaims, startled, turning her attention to you, “Oh dear…yes, I’m all right.  I think.”

You stare at each other for a couple seconds, before you finally grin, lifting a hand to her.

“Hi.”  You greet properly.

“Hello.”  She replies, finally looking like she’s starting to relax, “How are you today?”

“Doing okay.  I’m just wandering around bugging people.”  You explain, approaching the counter and offering her one of the flyers to look at.  She takes it from you, examining it, “Just helping someone out, asking people if they’ll put up a flyer.”

“Well, of course I will.”  Merrill says agreeably, nodding her head as she reaches for a nearby tape dispenser, “This is the sort of thing people should be doing around a holiday, not causing a fuss.”

“Thank you so much, that’s really nice of you.”  You tell her, watching as she steps around the counter to tape it up.

“It’s a very small thing to do, but every little bit helps, doesn’t it?”  She says cheerfully, frowns completely gone.

* * *

 

 

**Do you arrange the flowers yourself?  They’re so pretty!**

“I have, yes!  Not all of them, but some of them.”  Merrill agrees, reaching under the counter and pulling out a heavy binder.  She thumps it down, and explains, “Most of the designs are right in here.  So, you don’t get to be that creative, but sometimes they let me make what I like.”

“Are any of these your design?”  You ask, turning to look at the arrangements on display, and in the refrigerated case.

“The all white one, with roses and the andraste’s grace with the bits of gold…just a little something I thought was nice.”  Merrill replies, seeming a little flustered, “Nothing too fancy, but…lots of people are doing silver and gold this year, you know.  Less bright colors.”

“I like it.  It’s elegant.”  You decide, meeting her smile.  

“You’re so sweet, thank you.”  Merrill says, and then busies her hands flipping through the binder, “Oh dear.  I still need to finish Leandra’s centerpiece.  I promised Hawke I’d get it done today.”

* * *

 

**Work doesn’t wait, I guess!  Will I see you tomorrow?**

 

“Ooh!  Yes!  The party!”  Merrill declares, brightening visibly, “I was asking Hawke why she hadn’t invited you, but Isabela said you were already coming.  Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah, I work with Sera, she’s a friend of mine.”  You explain, and Merrill gives a little ‘ah’.  “So, I’ll see you then.”

“Yes, that’s right!”  Merrill says, and then waves to you when you lift a hand.

The door chimes as you push it open with your shoulder, the chill from the exit doors hitting you.  Brr.  Not even those massive heaters just inside can quite keep back the creeping winter.  Turning, you gaze up the hall, considering your options.

You’re heading up towards the intersection when you’re forced to stop short, startled.  Stepping back quickly, you watch as a massive bright red SALE sign flutters down from the ceiling, having nearly landed on your head.

Eyes narrowing, you glance up, hands on your hips.

Alistair blinks down at you from the top of his ladder, and then turns bright red.  You’re pretty sure he’s about to start stammering.

Like last time.

* * *

 

 

**So is trying to knock over girls just your thing, or am I special?**

 

“Aha…well, that’s a tricky question, isn’t it?”  Alistair replies, speaking quickly to cover his obvious embarrassment, “I know they say to make women feel special, but I have a feeling injuring people doesn’t quite have the intended effect.”

“Depends on what kind of stuff she’s into.”  You reply, crouching down and picking up the heavy, awkward sign.

“Right, I… _oh!_   Haha…ha.”  He laughs awkwardly, and when you glance up to hand him the sign, you realize you’ve gone and gotten him flustered again.  He clears his throat, and accepts the sign from you, “I…thank you.  I apologize.”

“You didn’t hit me.”  You assure, and then add with a grin, “This time, at least.”

“You win some, you lose some.”  He jokes, and then adds a bit hastily, almost dropping the sign again, “Not that I was trying to, I mean, I was…”

Alistair stops and sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s fine.”  You laugh, taking a step back to watch as he turns to try and tack up the sign again, at the top of the doorway, “Is that really a great place for that?  You’re gonna have kids jumping up trying to grab it.”

“This is where they want it.”  He sighs.

* * *

 

 

**Hey, I’m going around putting up flyers for a charity clothing drive.  Do you think I could put up one here?**

 

“I don’t see why not.”  Alistair says agreeably, if somewhat distractedly, still tacking up his sign.

You fall silent for a minute, waiting patiently as he finishes up the job, and then clambers down the ladder.  At the bottom, he blinks and glances at you, as if confused to still see you there.

“I mean in the store.”  You clarify, a little uncertainly, and then laugh, “I’m not just going to walk on in and stick one up somewhere.”

“No, of course not.  That would be silly.”  Alistair says, a little bit sarcastically as he picks up the ladder, “No one would possibly think that.”

“Nope, no one at all!”  You agree cheerfully, trailing after him as he wanders back into the store.

There’s a man standing behind the counter, you have a feeling he’s been watching you both.  Arms folded over his chest, bearded face impassive, you’re not sure if he’s actually annoyed or not.

“Sign’s up, Duncan.”  Alistair calls over casually, and then adds, “This ah…young lady has a flyer for a charity thing…”

“A charity clothes drive.”  You explain, letting the ‘young lady’ part go, pulling out one of the papers.

“Yes, thank you.  And she was hoping we could put it up.”  Alistair finishes.

“I have no problem with that.”  Duncan says, voice pleasant, “Provided you’re not too long at it.”

“That’s his way of saying I talk to much.”  Alistair confides aside at you, setting the ladder down and holding out a hand for the flyer.

* * *

 

 

**Thanks for taking it.  I’d better keep moving, though, I have a lot to do.**

 

“You…You’re welcome!”  Alistair calls as you wave and turn away.

He’s nice.

Feeling more and more pleased with every flyer handed out, you head northwards up the thoroughfare, making up for lost time.  The guys at the cell shop say they can’t take one, but you’re not surprised about that.  Templar is about as corporate as it gets.  You manage to give away a couple, but you still have a few left as you realize you’re at Montilyet’s, the little chocolate shop to your left.

Finally, at last, it seems like you’re going to meet the mysterious Miss Josephine you keep hearing about over and over.  If…she’s there.

When you turn to head in, however, there’s a very, very familiar face at the counter.

_Zevran._

“Is there anywhere you don’t work?”  You ask him, laughing as you head for the counter.

He glances at you, and actually looks surprised for a second before giving a small chuckle, adjusting his apron.

“I would have you know, I only have…three jobs.  Right now.”  He informs you, and then tilts his head to the side, “I am only helping Josephine out for the holiday.”

* * *

 

 

**Is she in?  I was hoping I could put up a flyer for a charity clothes drive.**

 

****

“In the back, yes.”  Zevran says, pushing off of the tall display counter with both hands, “Give me a moment?”

“I suppose I can just quietly pine while you’re gone.”  You tease.

With a gasp, Zevran clasps a hand to his heart, giving you a forlorn look as he walks backwards through the swinging door.  You laugh, shaking your head as your eyes inevitably turn to the case.

Chocolates.  You’ve had one before, so you know they’re good.  You got paid today.  The temptation is there.

When was the last time you wasted a little money on yourself?

Before you can sink too deeply into the contemplation of vice, the door swings open again, and a woman bustles out.  Her dark hair is swept up neatly, apron surprisingly tidy, and a warm smile on her face.  She turns it instantly on you, and you return it reflexively.

“Hello.”  She greets you, extending a hand over the counter, “I am Josephine Montilyet.”

You introduce yourself, taking her hand, and then slip out a flyer before you can waste too much of her time.  She, like so many people you’ve seen today, seems quite busy.

“There’s a charity clothing drive going on, and I was hoping I could put up a flyer?”  You explain with a smile, passing it over to her.

“Let me just see…”  Josephine says, taking the paper and scanning over it, “Ah.  Through the Chantry.  Yes.  I would be happy to put this up for you.”

* * *

 

 

**That’s great!  Thank you so much.**

 

 

“It is not a problem at all.” Josephine says briskly, stepping around the counter and heading for the front window of the shop, “It is a charity that I can in good conscience support.”

“I guess these days you can’t be completely sure.”  You agree ruefully, following after her with a last lingering glance at the display case.  “It’s funny, I kept hearing your name all the time, but we never ended up meeting before now!”

“You have?”  Josephine asks, with a hint of intrigue, “From who?”

“Oh well, Zevran and Leliana, and Mister Blackwall, over at the hardware store?”  You say, musing to yourself, “Well, I doubt Leliana remembers me, we only met that once.”

“Really?  He mentioned me?”  Josephine asks curiously, though the slightly worried look on her face when you mention Leliana doesn’t escape your notice.

“I came by after you and Leliana had dropped off the Satinalia decorations.”  You explain, “I had a couple repairs to do to my new apartment, he was helping me out.”

“Ah, well.  He is a…very kind man.”  Josephine agrees, with a small smile.

The smile doesn’t hide the fact that you think she might have looked disappointed for a second.

* * *

 

 

**So is Mister Blackwall a friend of yours…?**

“An acquaintance.”  Josephine says with a small smile, heading back for the counter, leaving the flyer in the window.  “He makes the most beautiful furniture, you know.  I bought a set of his chairs for my mother and father.”

“I saw!  It was amazing.”  You agree, following her back to the counter, “Way out of my price range, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.”

“He tried to give me a discount, but I insisted.  It will last for ages, it’s well worth the price.”  Josephine says, frowning for a moment, “Of course, I tell him that and he scoffs and changes the subject.  I have told him, he should sell it online.  I even helped him set up a website, but he simply will not…”

She stops short, glancing at you and flushing slightly.

“It’s okay.”  You assure, laughing slightly, “And I agree.  I mean, furniture these days is all just slap-together stuff.”

“Precisely.  Furniture should last _generations_.”  Josephine agrees, exasperation leeching into her voice, “That man is just too…too modest.”

She says it almost like an epithet, but starts laughing with you when you do, shaking her head slowly.

* * *

 

 

**I think it’s really great you’re so willing to help him.**

“Oh.  Well, I admit, it is nice to keep my hand in.”  Josephine admits, glancing over her shoulder as Zevran wanders out of the back with a tray, “I have so little time these days for such things, what with running the family business.”

“By yourself?”  You ask with surprise, “Is this the only shop?”

“There are three.  I have considered expanding, but just try to convince Orlesians to eat Antivan chocolate.”  Josephine says, sounding thoroughly exasperated, “It does not happen.  Absolutely no market.  Do not misunderstand, I do love Orlesian chocolate.”

“But they are stuffy and boring and do not enjoy new things.”  Zevran interjects wryly, grinning at the sidelong look Josephine gives him, “You know it is true.”

“Orlesian chocolatiers prefer traditional methods.”  Josephine admits with a little sigh.

“She is very diplomatic.  It is a good skill to have.”  Zevran declares, deftly unloading his tray, “I, on the other hand, can say that they are terribly dull.”

“Compared to you, Zevran, most people are.”  Josephine retorts, with a smile.

“So true, so true.”  He sighs.

* * *

 

**Well, I sure don’t want to be dull.  Do you sell anything particularly unique?**

 

 

Apparently they’re both rather pleased with your suggestion, because they start making suggestions at each other.  You just stand there, a little bemused, stepping aside as Zevran tends to an actual customer.

Not that you’re not an actual customer, but…

“Do you want to know what they are, or be surprised?”  Josephine asks you.

Oh.  Apparently you’re shopping.  Well, you had your chance to escape, it looks like you’re going to have to succumb to the inevitable.  It’s not really _that_ expensive, but…

“I don’t mind a surprise, but I am pretty curious.”  You decide, and then add apologetically, “But I am on a budget.”

“Oh no, no.  Just to try.”  Josephine assures you, warmly, “We do not sell so many of the ah…interesting ones.  I enjoy making them!”

“Are you sure?”  You ask, a little uncertainly, but only get waved off as she moves down to the smaller trays.

You follow, examining the chocolates curiously.  These ones are interesting.  More designs, dustings of various spices, even some with what look like flower petals on them.

“This one I enjoy quite a bit.”  Josephine tells you, selecting a small, dark glossy chocolate with what looks like a sprinkling of…

Is that black pepper?

With some trepidation, second-guessing your earlier braveness, you take the chocolate and pop it into your mouth before you can change your mind.  You bite in, and realize it’s actually a truffle as it melts away on your tongue.

Okay, that’s _really_ nice chocolate.

Nice chocolate that can’t hide the fact that you seem to have just bitten into a raspberry and black pepper truffle.

* * *

 

 

**Okay, that’s actually really good.  You never would have thought it, but…wow.**

You make enough happy noises while chewing that Josephine seems to get the message, and you don’t have to wax too poetic when you’re done.  Partially because she’s already busily examining her little trays in search of the next unusual thing to ply you with.

“How are you with spice?”  She asks you distractedly, and then glances up when you fail to answer.

Holding up a finger, you finish chewing, swallowing heavily to clear your throat.

“I do all right.”  You finally manage, clearing your throat.  

The nice thing about chocolates is the flavor kind of tends to stick around, but apparently you’re expected to try more.  Josephine selects two for you, one an odd shape, like something’s been covered in chocolate and then decorated with little flakes of salt.  The second one looks fairly innocuous, but that only makes you more suspicious.

“That is…crystallized pineapple, hot pepper, and dark chocolate.”  Josephine says proudly, pointing to the first one, and then gestures to the second, “That is a mulled wine truffle.”

* * *

 

 

**Oh wow, those both sound amazing.  Which one should I try first?  You’re the expert.**

 

“The wine.”  Josephine declares, and you obediently reach for it, “The pineapple has very strong flavor, it might linger a bit too long.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I watch.”  Zevran abruptly says, as you lift the chocolate from the counter, “I do like to watch.”

“Zevran!”  Josephine scolds, giving him a little push, “Go mind the register!”

You pause to laugh, watching as he sighs and saunters back to his post.  Josephine sighs, shaking her head as she glances back to you.

“I cannot do a thing with him.”  She says, cracking a smile herself.

You were going to answer, but, well…chocolate.  You pop it into your mouth, letting it melt for a minute before biting into it.  It’s lovely, just a tiny hint tart, with all the sharp richness of the red wine and a little spike of what you think is orange, before all the spices take over.  

It’s really nice, warm and cozy.  Wintery.  You’re still sort of lingering over it, when you remember that you really should be getting on with it.  Swallowing heavily, you reach for the last one, biting into it instead of putting the whole thing into your mouth.

It’s…wow.

You’re biting through the slightly tougher pineapple when the heat hits the roof of your mouth and tongue, and you’re pretty sure your cheeks flush.  The fruit is plenty sweet, though, and the chocolate is rich, with just a little salt to bring it together.

She’s _good._

* * *

**You can’t leave without buying something.  You might have to run to work, but it’s worth it.**

 

A bit flustered by the lack of time, you nevertheless take a couple minutes to purchase something.  A dozen chocolates, in a pretty little white and gold box doesn’t cut too deeply into your bank account.  Impressed by what you’ve been enjoying, you trust in Josephine to pick them out, and it’s all done rather quickly in deference to your haste.

That’ll be a nice surprise when you have time to dip into them.

Once you’ve paid, and said your hasty goodbyes to her and Zevran, you’re forced to flee out of the mall, the rest of your flyers sadly un-hung.  Still, you can maybe put some up tomorrow?  It’s not that bad, you did get a few up!  You feel good about it.

And you can put one up at work, after all.

The longest part of your trip is waiting for the light to change, traffic getting heavier already even though it’s only two.  You make it into work just before it’s time to clock in, cheeks red, booking it through for the time clock.

Unsurprisingly, Miss Kitty is in the back watching television.  She glances up once when you enter, and then goes back to it (and her bottle of ‘cola’).

 

You get out of your outerwear, put your dinner in the fridge, and then go out to relieve the girl at the counter so she can head off.  It’s not Sera today, but you’re pretty sure she’s in at Red Jenny in an hour or two.  It’s hard to remember.

Settling in to the comfortable, occasionally creepy monotony that is pornography retail, the time starts to speed by.  Before you know it Miss Kitty is gone, your feet are pretty tired, and Tor is telling you to go on break.

You’re damn hungry, since chocolates aren’t any substitute for lunch.  Settling in, you start eating, turning on your phone.

 

You don’t have any messages that seem urgent, just a few hellos and random comments.  You can return those without thinking about it.

* * *

 

 

**You should probably text Solas and make sure he’s meeting you at work** **.**

 

** **

** **

 

He doesn’t give you anything more.  You have a sneaking suspicion he’s doing that sort of thing on purpose just to mess with you.  What a pain.

About nine thirty you start keeping an eye on the time, trying to get things caught up and ready to leave.  You could take a quick break to clean yourself up and fix your makeup, or you could keep pushing to get your work done, so you’re ready to go out the door the instant he gets here.

* * *

 

 

**It won’t take more than a couple minutes to fix yourself up.  It’s not like you take smoke breaks, you can take a primp break.**

 

It’s nice to duck into the bathroom, do a bit of a clean-up and application of whatever makeup you smuggled with you today.  You fix up your hair, adjust eye makeup, maybe do some bra adjusting (it always needs adjusting, doesn’t it), and then settle yourself.

It’s good.  You’re feeling confident.

Ten comes, and you’re nearly almost done, hip against the counter as you wait on Tor to finish counting your drawer.  

You told him to leave the front door unlocked, because you were expecting someone.  You assume if Solas felt uncomfortable coming in, he’d text you.  Then again, you’re starting to think you can’t actually make him uncomfortable.

 

When he enters, it’s with a curious look on his face, adjusting the sleeves of his coat.  Eventually his gaze falls on you, and you tilt your head.

“Just a great deal of pink neon.”  He says, returning your smile when you grin, “Good evening.”

“Evening.”  You reply, leaning down to grab your bag from the floor, “Just waiting on my drawer.”

“I do not mind waiting.”  He says, and then adds musingly, scanning the space, “It is surprisingly…sanitary, compared to others.”

* * *

 

 

**So, you want the tour?**

 

“I believe I could do without.”  Solas says wryly, with a small smile that you can’t help but return, “I have a question for you, actually.”

“A question…”  You reply, intrigued, “Okay, well, go ahead.”

“Would you prefer something quiet this evening, or somewhere a bit more populated?”  He asks, wandering towards the counter.

Your response is interrupted, as Tor wanders out of the back room, waving a hand at you.  His attention turns to Solas, curiously.

“This is my…someone I’m meeting.”  You assure Tor, heading for the back room, awkwardly leaving the two of them alone, “I’ll be right back!  Right…right back!”

 

Rushing into the back room, you clock out, shucking on your coat and scarf, grabbing your bag and your leftovers from dinner.  The box of chocolates is still securely nestled, and you manage to not mess up your hair too much.

When you duck back out again, red-cheeked, Solas is waiting for you by the door.  He steps ahead of it and gets it for you, and you both head out under the benevolent gaze of Torpor.

It’s only when the icy air hits your cheeks that you remember he asked you a question.

* * *

 

 

**I’d like to go somewhere quiet tonight.**

 

“In that case, I will let you follow.”  Solas says, heading towards his car, “I will text you the address.”

Before you have a chance to protest- or express appreciation, he’s heading into his car without you.  You actually find the sentiment pretty nice, when you stop to think about it, he’s making sure you don’t feel trapped.

As you swing into your car, your phone buzzes with a map link from him.  The temptation to check where he’s actually leading you is high, but you resist.

He’s gone to all this trouble, why ruin it now?

Instead you settle in, and head out of the parking lot after him.

 

You head northwards, finding an on ramp, phone chirruping out directions if you lose sight of him.  It’s nice to go out on a Friday night.  When you pull off again, massive buildings blocking out the sky, you realize that you are, in fact, in the city.  Just like he said.  The downtown looms nearby, horizon painted by nightlife.

The lights flicker by, gold and blue, slowing as you weave from the main drag into the smaller streets.  You’re passing by a fairly urban bit of town, people in dark lines outside of clubs and bars- but you’re moving away from them, not closer.

Finally he seems to have found where he’s after, once you sit through a few eternal stoplights, and you both pull off into a huge, pitch-black parking lot.  Odd for here, just far enough away from city life to make you uncomfortable.

You slam your door as you slip out of your car, his and yours the only ones in the lot facing the huge, curved building.

“Are we even supposed to be here?”  You call, confused, turning back to watch cars passing by on the wide street just beyond the vast lot.

“Oh, no, certainly not.”  He says, sounding as unflustered as ever, “Come, let’s go.”

* * *

 

 

**Okay, let's go.**

****

Intrigued and confused, you cross the massive, empty parking lot with Solas.  When you pick up your pace to match his, he extends his arm slightly, and you tuck your hand in,  The anchor picks up your pace, matches it to his.  It’s nice.

You’re grateful you didn’t wear heels, this is a bit of a trek, but you have no idea what’s awaiting you.  You’re silenced by anticipatory confusion, only marginally clarified when you manage to make out the sign above you in the dark.

“Is the the planetarium?”  You ask, arm warmed by his as he tucks his hand over your elbow. 

“It is.”  He replies, pulling you aside from the huge main entrance, “Come,”

Protests die as you’re led across the uneven asphalt towards a side entrance, leaving unlit neon aside.  You have a feeling that breaking into the planetarium isn’t something they just let people do.  Yet, he has a key, and it opens a back door, into a corridor so stained and marked it could belong to any retail place you’ve dealt with.

Some things are universal.

“What the heck…”  You start, and then frown as he gently shushes you, pulling you in past the door that swings heavily shut.

Okay, amazing or no, does he really get to ‘shush’ you?

* * *

 

 

**Well, yes.  Let’s shush.**

 

****

Not just because this is kind of spooky, you clam up, saving the worries and accusations for the moment.  The door swings shut heavily, but he keeps his keys out.  Not like it’s something you would have noticed before, but he actually has a lot of keys.  Not ‘extra set to mom and dad’s house’ amount, but more edging towards the amount that looks like they should be on a big ring hanging from a belt.

One more question for the list, you guess.

Eventually the narrow corridor turns towards what looks like an employee area, doors labeled with things like ‘Storage A’ and ‘Maintenance’, and you feel him relax a little.  The area kind of reminds you of an old public school, the same white tile that’s lost its gloss, big dark brown doors with little windows.

“No alarms.”  He remarks, and you give him a disbelieving look.

“Were you _expecting_ some?”  You ask, trying not to raise your voice.

“No.  That was a joke.”  He replies, barely hiding a slightly smug smile, “I informed someone that I would be coming by for one last look.”

“One last…”  You ask, clinging to the one thing you think he might actually answer, “Is it going away?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”  He replies as you head down the hallway, towards another heavy door, “The science center is building a planetarium, and this real estate is simply too expensive to justify an older, more inferior version of it.”

“Well, at least we’re not breaking the law.”  You say, feeling a little more comfortable about it.

But couldn’t he have told you that before?

“That could be considered a matter of opinion.”  He says, releasing your arm to get the door for you, holding it open.

* * *

 

 

**Does that line work when you get arrested?**

 

 

You slip through the door, giving him a sidelong look as he catches back up with you again.  

“With any luck, we won’t have to find out.”  He says, and then admits with a faint chuckle, “Technically I am not supposed to have the key.  Some old friends had a habit of making them for various places around town some years ago.”

You let that sink in as you glance around what must be the actual entrance to the planetarium.  A bronze replica of what you think is an old Tevinter astrarium sits behind a long half-circle desk strewn with pamphlets and set with computers that look like they were out of date a decade ago.

A huge, faded banner that reads ‘See the Stars’ flutters overhead, in front of huge double doors leading further in.  That seems to be where he’s headed, both of your footsteps loud on the old marble floor.  Faintly you can hear the sounds of city traffic, light spilling in from the street beyond the darkened parking lot.

“Just for fun?”  You ask, and then laugh when he makes a small non-committal noise.  “So is this you telling me you could get me in to see the rare books at the downtown library?”

“Hmm.”  He muses, making your realize that he actually has to consider it before answering, “I don’t believe so, my apologies.”

“Let me guess, they’ve changed the locks.”  You say, and then laugh when he nods, “Were you a bad kid, is this what you’re telling me?”

“I believe that depends on who you ask.”  He replies, tipping his head to you as you get the door for him, “Thank you.”

“You keep side-stepping questions like that and you’re going to trip and fall.”  You inform him, following after, eyes adjusting to the abrupt darkness.  “…Woah.”

The door swings shut behind you, and you’re suddenly blind.  Completely, and utterly surrounded by darkness.  It’s so disorienting for a second you feel your balance leaving you, until a hand catches your elbow.

“Perhaps it’s you that should be wary of falling.”  He replies quietly.

There’s a sudden light in the darkness, leaving you blinking rapidly.  Solas releases your arm, adjusts his phone to light the way ahead, and starts down the short aisle towards the middle of the room.

* * *

 

 

**Is it mutually exclusive?**

 

 

“I suppose not, no.  Point well made.”  Solas muses, voice echoing as he pulls away from you.

You hasten to catch up before you’re left in pitch black, the light not reaching very far.  It’s hard to get the scope of the room you’re in, but it sounds big.  Or at least high, unsurprisingly.

“But, on the subject of my avoidance…perhaps I’m simply afraid I’m not very exciting.”  He says, still rather thoughtfully.

“Manufactured mystique via evasion?”  You ask, and he chuckles, “Not the best plan, Solas.”

“I’ve had worse.”  He says with wry humor.

Whatever you might say, you’re distracted into silence as low lights come up around the room, set into the floor.  Pale blue, they give just enough light to see by, not enough to blind you.  You blink rapidly, trying to adjust, taking a half step back to examine the device in the center of the room.

Small sections of chairs are spread out around the room, all circling the center area of the floor you’re now in.  It’s all very three or four decades ago- even the electronics look a bit ancient, but it’s one of those places you can just feel the nostalgia in.

“I am…fairly certain I still know how to work this.”  Solas says, and you glance back to where he stands in front of a few consoles at the base of what you realize must be the projector.

“You know how to run this?”  You ask, and then laugh faintly at his nod, “So what, instead of getting drunk and stealing cigarettes, you guys…made keys to break into buildings and learn about space?”

“Sobriety was not necessarily a part of it.”  He replies distractedly.

* * *

 

 

**And here you’re saying you’re not exciting.**

 

“The past often sounds much more interesting than it was.”  Solas replies, but not without a small smile, “In hindsight it often feels more like…”

“A bunch of hangovers strung together?”  You ask teasingly, and this time he actually laughs.

“More accurate than you might think.”  He says, and then asks absently, “Is it all right with you if we skip the narration?  It hasn’t aged well.”

“I’ve had my periods of strung-together hangovers myself, I understand.  Both literal and metaphorical.”  You say, curiously watching as things start to come online, “And sure, that’s fine.  What are we watching?  They have all sorts of projections, usually, don’t they?”

“They do, but I would rather just watch the stars, if that is acceptable to you.  It seems fitting for a final viewing.”  He says.

“Sure.”  You agree, and then take a step back to watch.

When the projector comes online after warming up, you take another couple steps back instinctively, until you find a seat.  It’s a little hard to stand and stare up, until you plop down in the theater seat you’re starting to feel a bit dizzy.

It spreads out across the domed ceiling, inky darkness and a universe full of stars.  Vast, and inspiring a kind of quiet awe, it keeps you silent for a minute as you just sit and take it in.   Without any sort of music or narration, you can hear the machinery working, but it’s not terribly noisy, just a quiet hum.

“Another piece of history to be paved over for convenient and overpriced parking.”  You barely hear him murmur.

* * *

 

 

**It’s not much, but at least I can remember it with you.**

 

“That means a great deal, actually.”  He replies, wandering over to take the seat next to you, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  You say, tugging off your bag so you can unbutton your coat, settling in.  It’s hard to take your eyes off the ceiling, “This is actually pretty amazing.  It’s not exactly something you get to see in the city, is it?”

“No.  For all its myriad beauties, a night sky devoid of light pollution is not something the city provides.”  He agrees, and then lapses into silence.

You both do, for a little while, and you have to agree that it’s nice to watch this without the narration.  You never quite know what you’re looking at, as it shifts to show you various galaxies, sections of the sky you can’t identify at sight, but there’s something soothing about it.

Nebulae like faint curtains of light with bright stars piercing them interrupt the fields of stars, bringing some color to the blackness overhead.  Despite the aged equipment, it’s still perfectly clear.

“Constellations are fascinating.”  He says abruptly, but low enough that you’re not startled, “To look at the sky, see the chaos and desperately try to give it order.”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?”  You say, pulling your bag up to your knees, “Make stories, to try and make some sense of the universe.”

“Try.”  He says, heavily sardonic, “Being the operative word.  A futile endeavor.”

“Hard to stay motivated if you decide everything’s random chance and utter chaos.  At least pretending things makes sense gives you motivation.”  You say, leaning over to nudge his shoulder, “Don’t go getting all fatalistic on me.”

In an attempt to pick up the mood a little, you dig into your bag and procure the box of chocolates.  Thumbing it open, you tuck the lid under the box, and offer it to him, nudging it against his arm.  He glances down, surprised.

* * *

 

**You sound like you might need a little sweetening up.**

“Do I?”  Solas asks, selecting one with two fingers and lifting it out of the box to examine it, “Or is it that, like the incessant questioning, feeding people is how you try to charm them?”

“You enjoy it.”  You reply confidently, putting the box on the arm between you, and selecting one for yourself, “Wouldn’t you rather it be one last good memory, rather than a bitter one?”

He’s silent for long enough that you glance aside, already biting into the chocolate.  His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, but at least his expression is more relaxed now.  When he glances down, meeting your eyes, you tilt your head questioningly.

“You are correct.”  He says, and then glances down at the bitten chocolate in his fingers, “Is that…pepper?”

“Yep.  I told her to give me the weird ones.”  You say contentedly, popping what turns out to be a lavender caramel into your mouth.  

Apparently he doesn’t mind it, because he just gives a faint ‘hmm’ and eats the rest of the chocolate.  You have a feeling he’s getting lost in his own head, because he keeps going silent.  It’s okay, though, it’s not uncomfortable, and you have the feeling there’s a _lot_ of memories here for him.  

It’s actually pretty cool that he brought you, considering how important the planetarium is to him.

 

You watch the stars together for a while in silence again, with the quiet hum of the projector.  You’re not sure how long it’s been, in the dark closed off from the rest of the world, but you’re in no hurry to check your phone.

Eventually, though, the show ends, giving one last view of the vast star-strewn darkness above.  You hear him sigh, heavily, and then he rises from his seat with a jarringly noisy creak of the ancient upholstery.

* * *

 

 

**Thank you for bringing me here.**

 

****

“Thank you for joining me.”  He says, voice oddly distant.

You occupy yourself putting away the rest of the chocolates for a second, tucking them back into your bag and pulling it on.  He’s still silent, standing with his back to you at the control consoles, and you’re starting to feel just a little bit intrusive.

Maybe you should give him a minute alone?

You start rising to your feet, when abruptly everything goes black.  Pitch black, without even the floor lights, like it was when you first walked in.  Your eyes are more used to low light right now, but there’s nothing.

Disorienting, complete nothingness.

“Solas!”  You protest, hands reaching out blindly.

Infuriatingly, you hear him _laughing_.  After a few seconds, one of your swinging hands finds his arm, and you latch on, torn between annoyance and gratitude.  You stumble as you pull yourself steady with his arm, bumping into his side as he momentarily supports your weight.

“You did that on purpose.”  You accuse, feeling his chest shudder against your upper arm as he chuckles.

“I believe I warned you earlier about falling.”  He says, voice warm and close in the darkness.

* * *

 

 

******And I warned your right back, didn’t I? _Kiss him._**

 

Blindly, you reach a hand out and find the edge of his jaw, turning him towards you as you lean in.  You don’t give yourself a chance to second guess, or worry that you’re not going to find his mouth in the dark.

You do.

Lips meet, brief and warm and…maybe with just a tiny hint of playful tongue.  He returns it, but you can feel the instant it sinks in, and his mouth goes still against yours.  You instantly break the kiss, dropping your hand regretfully and starting to pull back.

“I’m not goi…”

It’s all you manage to get out, because his fingers tighten against your arm and literally drag you back in.  If you were worried he wasn’t into it, well…you’re not worried any more.  Though, maybe you should be.

He kisses you like a drowning man coming up for air.

Fierce and desperate, a hand pressing in against your lower back as he pulls you in close.  The hand on your arm lifts up to your cheek, but for some reason that seems to pull him out of it.  The kiss breaks, leaving you lightheaded as you breathe in sharply, his fingers still gentle on your cheek.

You feel the slight drag of his thumb down your skin, breathing out heavily against his lips.

“I…”  You feel him murmur.

“Don’t you dare apologize.”  You interrupt.

He’s right there, and you barely have to lean in to kiss him again- but he’s withdrawing, you can feel it.  So, you keep it friendly and soft, and let him disentangle himself and pull himself away.

Not just physically, either.

“I would appreciate it if we could…not talk about that right now.”  He says at last, faintly apologetic, “I need some time to think with a clearer head.”

* * *

 

 

**Absolutely, take all the time you need.**

 

 

“Thank you.”  Solas says with quiet sincerity.

He doesn’t take your arm again, but that might just be out of politeness to you.  He did just…sort of reject you.  Sort of.

Even understanding that maybe this was all just a bit much for him, it stings a little.  What if he thinks it was a mistake?  What if it was all the memories, and not actually…you?

Now’s probably not the time to pester him about it.

You said you’d give him space, you have to actually try and mean it.  Overthinking it is probably a mistake, though.  Take him at face value, you have no reason to think otherwise.  Right?

You realize, after a couple seconds, he’s just called your name.

Blinking, you glance up and realize he’s turned on his phone again, and is halfway up the aisle.  Grabbing at the strap of your bag, you hasten to follow.  Easier to keep your hands to yourself when they’re occupied.

You head out of the planetarium, without a backwards glance.  There’s nothing there but darkness.

 

Returning to the lobby is like returning to reality, the quiet drone of traffic outside, lights shining in through the front doors.  You keep pace with each other, but walk apart this time, though he does get the side door for you again.  The long hallway to the back door is a silent walk, but the awkwardness is fading away.

“May I walk you to your car?”  He asks, quietly polite.

“Sure, thank you.  Are you not leaving?”  You say, cheeks abruptly flushing as he opens the heavy back door, the cold from outside sudden and piercing.

“Not quite yet,”  he says, following you out into the parking lot, “but soon enough.”

You walk across the large, empty lot towards your car, the noise of traffic growing louder.  It’s Friday night, so even at midnight the roads are busy.

“Drive carefully.”  He says, as you both come to a stop next to your car.

* * *

 

 

**I will.  Good night.**

 

“Good night.”  He replies with a small nod of his head, stepping back and catching your car door for you as you pull it open.

Since you are being terribly mature and understanding, you don’t yank it out of his grip, but you let him close your door for you.  Fishing out your keys, you turn on your car, pulling out your phone as you wait for it to warm up.

It’s cold.  Snow cold, where you can smell it in the air.

After you check your messages, you set your phone aside and reach for the steering wheel.  A glance in your rearview mirror just shows the building, at first, until you adjust it and realize Solas is still outside.

You can see him, faintly in your tail lights and the light from the road, standing around the side of the building near the back door.  He has his hands in his pockets, and he’s just staring at the wall.

In his own head again, probably.

After a couple seconds, you fix your mirror again, back out of the parking lot, and move to join the late night traffic.

 

Turning the radio on helps drown out your head a little.  Weird that things went from ridiculously romantic to strange and distantly sad all of a sudden, but it wasn’t actually a bad date.  If you ignore the last part.  He’ll come around.  Or won’t.

Not really anything you can do about it, right?

 

When you get home, you send him a text to let him know you got home safely, and to thank him.  It doesn’t get a response, at least not tonight.

It’s about twelve thirty in the morning, you work from noon to eight tomorrow.

 

You have kittens, half a box of chocolates, and some booze Hawke and Co. left in your fridge.  What do you think?

* * *

 

 

**Would it be weird if we write for an hour or two?**

 

Feeling suitably inspired by the evening, you settle in to do some writing after a quick shower.  The further you get from that awkwardness after the kiss, the more pleasant the whole evening becomes.  Actually, now that you think of it, it’s probably one of those times that you’re going to remember for the rest of your life.

How often do you get to sneak into a planetarium in the middle of the night?

Even if this ends up being the end of things, at least you’ll have the memory of the stars.

 

Atisha claims your lap, of course she does, after another pathetic crying fit because she can’t jump up into it.  Fen just gets a case of the crazies and runs around the apartment until he passes out under your desk.  You write for a couple hours, until you glance up and realize you’ve lost track of time completely.

It’s three in the morning.

Gathering up the cats, you head to bed, set your alarm, and then promptly pass out.

 

## End of Day 6


	7. Saturday, 3rd of Umbralis

 

 

Bright and early, you’re woken up because the cats are starving to death and have never before eaten in their life.  You get up, feed them, and then stumble back into bed and face-plant.

You manage to doze for another hour or two.

Still, you’re up before your alarm.  Atisha is nice enough to come to bed and just fall asleep behind your head, but Fen disapproves of the fact that you’re not petting him.  You scratch him behind the ears until he stops complaining and biting you, but it’s too late.  

You’re awake.  When you get your hand free to check your phone, it turns out to be about nine thirty.

Well, you’ve slept less before.

You have a couple messages, nothing too exciting.  Cole sent you more pictures of Penelope the Iguana, so you take a couple of Fen eating your hair to send back.  Solas messaged you back as well, at about four thirty in the morning, just a polite nothing letting you know he got your message and thanking you for coming out.

It’s bland enough that you realize he probably wasn’t trying to start a conversation.

 

You’re going to need caffeine.  A lot of caffeine.  Who _knows_ how late you’re gonna be up tonight.  You also need to figure out if you’re going to give into temptation and do the dressing up you didn’t do last night.

But first?  

First you need to get your ass out of bed.

* * *

 

 

**Coffee.  Just…coffee.   The trudge to the shop will help, too.**

 

 

You bundle up and pack your laptop, more out of habit than any particular writerly urges.  You never know, once you manage to get functional, you might feel up to it.  Things like dressing up and making lunch can wait until after coffee time.

 

 

You’re feeling pretty good about the contents of your fridge and freezer, so far your budgeting and meal planning is working pretty well.  You haven’t been eating out or wasting money, and haven’t been tempted to go load up on junk food.

Tonight is bring your own drinks, you remember.  If you wanted to save even more money, you could just bring that bottle of wine they left in your fridge, but you can certainly afford to splurge just a little.

There’s a corner shop just a block down, in the opposite direction of the coffee shop.  Not very big, but they probably have drinks.  Either that or you can go to the liquor store near work later.  Or, you can be a good girl, drive tonight, and keep sober.  Never know, someone might need a designated driver.

Pondering it over sleepily, you head downstairs after saying goodbye to the cats, who are celebrating their successfully waking you up by…sleeping.

Little jerks.

You head outside into the gray and ice, burrowing your nose into your scarf to try and keep it warm.  Picking up the pace helps, and the chill is actually pretty good for clearing your head.  By the time you make it to the shop, you’re feeling about fifty percent alive.

The smell of coffee in the air when you push into the shop helps a little, too.

The line is shorter than it was last time you were here, and there’s less people working at the tables.  In no time at all, you’re to the head of the line.  They do have some pastries and bagels, on top of the drinks.

* * *

 

 

**A coffee and something to eat.  We’ve earned it, and it’ll save time.**

 

 

 

With coffee and breakfast in hand, you find a corner away from the cold to enjoy both.  It’s a good vantage for watching people coming and going, as you slowly work on waking yourself up.  Eventually, though, you fish out your phone, checking your messages again.

Like eight from Sera.  You open them up, and realize it’s a bunch of pictures.  Fen’harel pictures, it looks like.  The…old ones, not the gallery ones.  Some of the photos look like copies, faded ones.

 

  


 

Well, okay, she now wants to know why.  Not surprisingly.

* * *

 

 

**Just tell her why you don’t feel comfortable asking him.  She is your friend.**

 

You’re really hoping honesty is the best policy right now, because you feel like spilling it.  Maybe you just need to tell someone?  Your story gets silence, at least for a couple minutes, while you work on your breakfast and try to force yourself to wake up.

 

  


 

You really hope that’s a joke.  Normally you would assume no, but this is Sera.  She might actually do it.  With things a bit less…tense, you check if she needs a ride.  She says she’s taking the bus, and you can go with her if you want.

She recommends not driving, apparently it’s a bad part of town for finding parking.  Good to know.

While you’re sending her one last message, the chair across from you scoots out noisily, and someone sprawls into it.

“Enjoying the weather?”  A semi-familiar voice asks you.

You glance up, meeting Dorian’s eyes as he drops his cup down, and reaches up to loosen his scarf.

* * *

 

 

**Could be worse, I guess.  How are the ice blocks coming?**

“Well enough, I suppose.  Dagna’s industry matches her enthusiasm, at least.”  Dorian says, drumming fingers on top of his cup, “I do much better with management than manual labor.”

“Especially in this cold.”  You agree, and he gives a ‘hmm’ of agreement.  “Just grabbing a morning cup?”

“Unfortunately.  Not looking forward to a day of holiday shoppers.”  Dorian says exasperatedly.

“I’ll drink to that.”  You say, lifting your cup and taking a sip of your coffee.

He follows suit, saluting you in return.

The two of you chat for a bit, and it’s surprisingly comfortable.  He’s easy to talk to, and his dry sense of humor is enjoyable.  You don’t really talk about anything in particular, just the school and a little bit of retail work mockery.  Despite having only met once before, you get along fine.

Eventually he leaves, having to work earlier than you, and you’re left feeling more cheered than you were before.  And more alert.

You might be ready to face the day now.

* * *

 

 

**Let’s head up to the corner store.  Grab something for the party tonight.**

Caffeinated, and with some breakfast to keep you going, you bundle up again and head back the way you came.  It’s just a block or so past your building before the corner store, which isn’t much bigger than most grocery convenience stores.  It’s clean, though, and the guy behind the counter greets you pleasantly enough before going back to watching the weather channel on a small portable television.

Still, it looks like they have some basic produce along with the snack cakes, candy bars, and condoms, so that’s more than most.

There’s a couple coolers of alcohol, and you wander back to browse.  Nothing exciting.  Cheap champagne, some wine, basic beers, wine coolers, novelty malt liquor.  

You could also just go for some fancy glass-bottle soda, if you don’t want to drink tonight.

* * *

 

 

**Sober and responsible, that’s us.  Let’s grab some soda.  It’ll help keep us awake, too.**

 

 

Utterly torn between getting beer for the party, and staying on the straight and narrow, you finally grab some fancy soda.  You’re just starting to get to know people, getting drunk and crazy at a party might end up badly.

You do some more browsing, just to see what’s here.  They have a decent selection of ice cream, both novelty and non, and microwaveable faux food.  In the dry goods there’s some mixes, more instant dinner type things, some canned goods.

Heading towards the counter, you take one last mental perusal of your home inventory, deciding if there’s anything you want to grab.

* * *

 

**Let’s get some brownie mix.  We have just enough time to make some before work.   BYOB…bring your own brownies, right?  And some condoms.  Just…to have around, you know.**

Once again, you engage in some sensible splurging- the most you’ve really spent so far has been on the cats, actually.  But you grab a couple boxes of brownie mix, some tortilla chips and salsa, and a box of condoms on your way to the counter.  You never know, right?

One of those things you don’t want to get stuck without- even if it’s someone else that needs them, and not you.

You get rung out quickly, a painless transaction, and the guy behind the counter goes back to his television.  

Grabbing your bags, you head back out into the cold.  If you want to make lunch and brownies before you go, it’s probably time to get a wiggle on.  They can cool while you’re at work, so all you really need to do is bake them.

When you head in through the front door, it looks like the mail has come.  There’s a couple letters for you, junk mail, bank statement, credit card offer, and some larger envelope without a return address.  You examine it briefly, notice someone wrote ‘do not bend’ on the back, and it’s been bent at least once.  Whoever it is wrote your address by hand, in a blocky, clear hand.

Weird.

You get upstairs, toss the mail down on your coffee table, and head for the kitchen.  The brownie mix is easy, eggs and water and oil, all things you have from your ‘staples’ run to the store.  You do both boxes at once, reasoning that drunk people like to eat.

It’s not hard to make brownies from a box, and you’re a decent cook, so in about fifteen minutes, tops, they’re in the oven.  It’s almost eleven, and you need to be out the door by twenty to twelve, at the latest.

* * *

 

**Let’s open the mail.**

Giving in to temptation, you open your bank stat…just kidding.

The large envelope without the return address is a plain manilla with its flap firmly glued down.  It’s thick enough to make you think there’s something more than just a letter in there.  You thumb it open, ripping it along the crease, and then pop it open, peering inside.

There is a letter, so you grab it first, unfolding it curiously.

 

_Dearest wifey,_

_I know I should have left this at your work, but that’s a lot less funny.  Don’t worry.  I just used the internet.  You can find anything these days.  Almost anything._

_Here you go, more fuel for the fire.  This is fun to watch, how long can you keep it going before people stop caring?_

_Don’t tell the old man, and trust me- don’t out yourself as the source of these._

_Anonymity is a gift, hang onto it._

_P.S.  Pretend for a second I’m not a nice guy.  Read the last two sentences again._

 

 

You’re not sure if you’re weirded out, scared, a little violated, or angry at Sera for getting you dragged into this.  You settle for the first one right away, hand dipping into the envelope.  The material you touch is slippery under your fingertips, and you know instinctively what it is.

You pull a pile of photographs out of the envelope.

It’s not hard to know what it’s going to be, but you still end up having to stagger over and plop down on the couch.  They look like recent copies, but old photographs, if that makes any sense at all.  New copies made from old negatives.

Because these are at least fifteen years old.

You know that, because you’ve been studying up on Fen’harel.

Felassan likes art, Solas said.  Could he have been a fan?  Someone who used to go around taking pictures of the work?  You recognize a couple pieces, the famous ones people still have photographs of.  These aren’t those photos, though, these are ones taken by some sort of small personal camera, not professional.

There’s at least a half dozen pieces you’ve never seen before, including the one that he’d called a copy.  And he was right, it’s exactly the same as that painting in the gallery.

You flip through them for a minute, but it’s nothing more than painted walls, some photos better than others, all of them taken at night.  Granted, this is probably going to be a huge deal for a small group of people, but you’re still not sure of the significance.

Or what the hell you should do with them.

* * *

 

**Don’t freak out.  Get ready for work, text her to meet you at work.  Show her in person.**

 

Yeah.  Freak out later, that sounds good.

You put everything back in the envelope, put it away in your purse, and go to make yourself lunch slash dinner.  While it cooks, you spend some time with the cats, fix your hair and do some basic makeup, pull the brownies out of the oven.

But no freaking out, nope.  Not thinking about how the photographs actually might prove Sera completely wrong- because if that photo has been hiding somewhere for fifteen years, how would a fake artist know that piece to copy it?

Not thinking about how easy it apparently is to find your address, nope.

And certainly not thinking about if he was actually threatening you or not.  You can only assume the ‘old man’ (mean, by the way) is Solas, considering you asked him to talk to Felassan for you.  Was he warning you not to tell Solas because he’d get mad at Felassan? 

They’re just photographs.

Hey, remember when you were like ‘sneaking into a gallery to take pictures, no big deal!’?  

Yeah.  Just photographs.

The brownies you leave on the stove to cool while you’re at work, throwing some tinfoil over them in case of cats.  You dish up your food for work, sealing it up after taking a few bites.

All the while, not doing any freaking out at all.

On your way out, you text Sera.  She says she’ll meet you there when she can.

 

You get in to work, settle in, and then uncertainty comes creeping back.

* * *

 

**You should probably take pictures of everything, just in case. _Especially_ that letter.**

 

Between customers, you take the best pictures you can of the photos and letter with your phone.  Glossy photos aren’t the best for taking pictures of, but you take a good few of each of them, just to make sure they’re recognizable.

By the time Sera gets there, you’ve managed to get all of them, and you’re feeling a bit more calm and in control.  Doing something, even if it was pointless, helps a little.

When she pushes her way into the store, slurping away at a straw, you’re flattening some boxes for Tor to drag out.  

“So what’s th’big deal that you gotta drag me here on my day off?”  She asks, and you’re relieved to see that she’s smiling.

The conversation this morning did make you worry, a little.

“I got some weird mail today.”  You explain, and her smile starts fading, turning puzzled, “I guess asking Solas worked.”

“Wait a friggin’…mail, like…at your house, mail?”  Sera asks, only looking all the more worried when you nod, “Give it here, you all right, right?”

“Sort of?”  You reply, passing her the letter first, “I mean, I’m not crazy that it’s kind of…”

You fall silent as Sera reads, soda in one hand, her blank expression gradually turning into a scowl.  

“You all right?”  She immediately asks, repeating, glancing up into your face searchingly, “Like, actually all right?”

* * *

 

**I’m not really sure.  I don’t even know what’s going on.**

 

“Sorry.”  Sera apologizes, setting her cup down, “I guess people could sort of say this is my fault, couldn’t they?”

“I made the choices myself, Sera.”  You remind her, “I’m a big girl, okay?”

“Right.”  She mutters, not looking that sure.

Well, at least you know how to perk her up.  Having gotten the weird, creepy part out of the way, you reach under the counter for the stack of photos.  When you hold them out to her, she gives you a questioning look, but automatically takes them.

And then she realizes what they are.

Torn between freaking out, poring over them, and telling you how ‘brilliant’ you are, she starts going a mile a minute.  You have to pull yourself away for a minute to take care of a customer, and the whole while she’s looking through the photos.  Apparently people are going to ‘lose it’.  That’s nice to hear.

Her enthusiasm makes you feel a bit better.

At least, until she gives a loud, sudden curse, slapping the stack down on the counter.

“What?  What?”  You ask, tearing your attention away from the receipt you’re handing across the counter.

“He’s Fen’harel.”  Sera tells you, jabbing a finger in your direction, “That’s it, innit?  Got to be.  He’s Fen-friggin’-harel!”

“No way, Sera.”  You deny instantly, and then frown, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Course it does!”  She counters, scowling for just a second, “It’s got to, doesn’t it?  Only thing that makes sense, how else he got these?”

“He’s probably just a fan from back in the day.  He…I don’t know, used to go take pictures whenever he made a new piece.”  You say, dubiously.

“Th’ paint is still there!  On th’ground!  An’ stencils an’ shit.”  Sera informs you a bit too loudly, picking up one of the photos and thrusting it at your face.  “Right friggin’ there, He just finished it!”

* * *

 

**Huh.  I thought he’d be bigger.**

 

 

Sera cackles at your words, reaching over to shove your shoulder.  She doesn’t seem to want to let go of the photos for long, though, quickly she scoops them back up again, sorting through them.

She quiets for a couple minutes, and you go back to your boxes, trying to avoid cardboard cuts.

“You think that’s why he said not t’tell Solas?”  Sera asks, drawing your attention back again, “Because he don’t want to get outed?”

“I guess if it’s true, maybe?”  You reply, for a second considering telling her about Solas and his ‘bad kid’ days.

But then again, that’s not your story to tell.  Still, it makes you wonder, as your brain fidgets the pieces around trying to find where they fit…  

Did Solas know?

“Nice to think it is, but there’s no way to tell, is there?”  Sera says, surprising you a little.  She seems to notice that you are, because her voice gets wry, “I get excited, but that don’t mean I’m stupid.”

“It could be.”  You reply, lifting your shoulders, “He could be Fen’harel.”

“Yeah, but then why the games?”  She asks, actually sounding a little plaintive, “We were right there, why fuck about and all that?  Why not tell us what th’fuck’s goin’ on straight out?”

* * *

 

**It could be more complicated than we realize?**

 

“Sera…Sera, can we please…is there a way to make sure no one can trace them to us?”  You ask hopefully, “I know you probably want to make a big deal out of this, but, please.”

“What, just post them anonymous on the internet, then pretend to be surprised with everyone else?”  She replies, almost jokingly, and then grins at you, “Does that mean I get a code name too?”

“Of course you do, that’s the best part.”  You say, managing a smile, “As long as nobody knows it’s us, that’s really all that matters.”

“You’re really takin’ this that serious, huh?”  She asks you, head tilting.

“It showed up at my _house_.”  You say pointedly, and then sigh, “Please, Sera.”

“Sure, why not.”  She says, tucking the photos carefully into her coat, “You keep that letter.  Never know.”

“And when you’re done with the photos…”

“I’ll tuck ‘em away somewhere safe.”  She promises you.  “Relax.”

“You want a ride tonight?”  You offer, as she straightens up and grabs her soda again.

“Takin’ the bus.  Are you really driving?  What about getting drunk?”

“I bought soda.”  You tell her, and then grin when she sighs, loudly, “And…I made brownies.”

Sera slaps her forehead dramatically.

* * *

 

**Drunk people are way more fun when you’re sober.  Besides, someone might need a ride.**

 

“Whatever you say.”  Sera replies, dubiously, and then grins at you, voice teasing, “Frigging boring, that’s what you are.”

“Hey!  I think we’ve got plenty of evidence to the contrary here!”  You protest, pointing at the pictures she’s carrying, “Don’t pick on me!”

“All right, all right.”  Sera says, and then shakes her head, “Gonna go get these up, yeah?  I’ll text you about the party.  Eight, right?”

“Yep, and then I have to stop at home.  Not too far, is it?”

“Nah, just don’t be forever.  You get there too late, you’ll miss all the fun!”  Sera tells you, lifting a hand and turning for the door.  “If you even know how t’have fun!”

“I resent that!”  You call back at her.

She just cackles at you, pushing out into the parking lot, already looking at the pictures again.  That leaves you with the letter.  After a brief contemplation, you finally fold it up and put it away in the envelope.

You never know.

 

Work goes by busily, things picking up around six.  It’s not the easiest night, actually there’s some creeps, but Tor’s around, and he’s enough of a deterrent when you let him know what’s going on.  You can’t imagine what it would be like working at one of these shops if your boss didn’t care about keeping people from being harassed.

By the time eight rolls around, you’re very ready to get out of there.

You say your goodbyes, grab your things, and forge on out into the cold again.  You’re so focused on getting into your car, you don’t notice the weather has changed until a snowflake abruptly lands on your nose.

Lifting a hand to wipe it away, you glance skyward.

It’s snowing.

* * *

 

 

**Dress up, get your things, take the car**

 

Once you’ve done your duty to the kitties- which involves snuggling, being bitten, and feeding them, you spend some time on yourself.  This time, damn it, you’re going with a skirt, leggings under them, a cute top, even a little jewelry.  Maybe you’ll be a little cold, but it’ll be worth it to feel nice.

You fix up your face to match the dressier ensemble, And do your hair.  No hat tonight, your ears will have to deal with it.  In deference to the snow, and since you’re taking your car, you do grab a change of shoes just in case.  Better safe than sorry.

Actually, on second thought, you grab a bag and toss a change of clothes in there, a blanket, and a filled water bottle.  Good to have in your car anyway, especially in the winter.  Topping that off with your soda, chips and salsa, and the brownies that you’ve cut up, you are ready to party.

In a sensible and adult fashion.

You animal you.

 

The drive isn’t too long, once you get the address from your messages and punch it in.  Maybe fifteen minutes, to a slightly nicer neighborhood than yours.  Driving in the snow is pretty, and it’s still too soon for it to be dangerous or slippery.  Still, you take it slow.

When you arrive at the house, which is a lot bigger than you were expecting, the driveway is full.  You have to park maybe three blocks down, which still isn’t bad in the city, but it leaves you with a little bit of a trek and some bags, and a pair of heels.  You get out, unload the back, and then close the door with your butt before locking up.

There.

Better hurry, though, because it’s cold as shit.

The sidewalk is a bit on the precarious side, but you’re doing fine until abruptly someone tumbles out of a nearby hedge with a crash.  You jump about a half foot with a yelp, and so do they, scrambling back to their feet and rushing at you.

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!”  Merrill apologizes, darting to your side and grabbing your elbow before you can topple.  “I didn’t mean to frighten you!”

She has pine needles in her hair.

* * *

 

**Um…why were you in a bush?**

 

“Oh.  Well.  That’s a good question, actually.”  Merrill says, following along beside you as you hurry up the sidewalk, “Well, someone accidentally knocked something off of the back deck, and I was looking for it.”

“Did you find it?”  You ask, glancing over at her, “Was it important?”

“Oh.  No.  It was a plastic cup.”  Merrill replied, lifting a hand to show you a crumpled red cup, “I just didn’t want it to get forgotten.  Hawke promised Leandra there wouldn’t be a mess when she gets home, so…”

“So you went hunting in the dark for a cup.”  You reply, and then grin at her when she laughs, “Maybe next time in the morning might be better?”

“Well, yes, probably.”  Merrill allows, and then gives a sigh, glancing skyward, “Also I wanted to watch the snow.  It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”  You agree, nodding gratefully when she moves to get the gate for you, both of you turning up the walk to the house, “Thanks.”

“Not a problem!  Can you settle yourself?”  Merrill asks.

* * *

 

**Just point me to the kitchen!**

 

“It’s right through your left.  Just go down the hall a ways, past the dining room, and it’s the one with the swinging door!”  Merrill instructs cheerfully, smiling all the deeper when you get the door for her, “Thank you, you’re so nice!”

“Not a problem.”  You say, following her in.

The house was big from the outside, so you’re not sure what you were expecting, but it’s, well…big on the inside, too.  It looks like normal people living in a fancy person’s house, as weird as that sounds.  There’s various family pictures on the walls, and a walk in closet that it looks like no one uses.  Shoes are piled haphazardly on a pretty expensive rug, directly in front of a shoe rack someone seems to have put out in a last ditch effort to contain them.

You put your shoes on the shoe rack, because you’re a guest, but barely anyone bothered.  You see Sera’s in the tangle.  She’s already here, that’s good.

Before you go hunting anyone down, though, you’ve got stuff to deliver.  Heading left, listening to the noise and music, you follow the sounds of chatter down a wide hallway. 

With more family pictures.  Someone sure likes their family pictures, though for some reason in half of them, Hawke or Carver (or both) are making horrible faces, and Bethany is laughing.  You see what must be their mom and dad, a handsome older man and a woman who generally looks exasperated in any picture where no one’s behaving.

Nice family.

The kitchen isn’t quiet, when you finally find the door and push through it, after passing by a dining room it looks like no one uses, there’s a group of people standing around an island counter.  Arguing.  Or at least, talking pretty angrily.

You recognize all of them, actually, even if you’ve never met.  Josephine, Leliana, Zevran, and the woman you think is from the cafe at Valmont.  The one that was talking to…Felassan.  That’s right!   _Weird._

Eyes turn towards you, and you hopefully lift your things as a shield.

“I made brownies?”  You say with a smile.

“Those belong here!”  Leliana demands, pointing at the counter in front of herself with her glass of wine.

She looks like she’s been crying.  That’s worrying, but when you glance at Zevran, he gives you a reassuring smile.

* * *

 

**Yes ma’am!**

 

Obediently, you head over and plop down the container of brownies.  Rather than linger and be rudely invasive, you then step around the island for the counter, dumping off your bag of chips and the salsa.  Not that there’s any shortage of either.

Oh well, it’s the thought that counts, right?  And you did bring brownies.

“Thank you.”  Leliana calls to you, though she doesn’t sound any more cheerful, “I just do not understand why she would do this.  After everything we have been through!”

“You are being too emotional.  You know exactly why she did it.”  The woman you don’t know says, with a heavy Orlesian accent.  She doesn’t sound unsympathetic.  “She has everything she wanted.  The money, and someone to take the fall for it.  It worked out perfectly for her.”

“There is nothing wrong with being emotional.”  Josephine says calmly, but with a hint of worry.

“No, Briala is right.”  Leliana says, giving a small sniff and then sighing, “Marjolaine has spared no feelings for me, why should I bother with any for her?”

“Just be grateful you have not been prosecuted, merely fired.”  Briala says, voice a touch sarcastic, “If she was capable of framing you for her theft to this extent, she could have gone a step further.  That is what you get for being clever enough to see through her.  They do hate that.”

“Speaking from experience, no?”  Zevran asks archly, and then laughs.

You glance over, and catch Briala giving him a nasty look.  He just grins at her.

“The rights of the worker mean little to most in management, and even less to those beyond them.”  She finally says, contemptuously, “You could try to argue that you are innocent and she is not, but that could only make things worse for you.  They are comfortable, and so they do not care.  Be grateful they did not choose to make an example of you.”

“Life is not fair.”  Leliana finally says, voice heavily resigned, but with slightly better humor.

You realize you’ve been kind of inadvertently eavesdropping.  They are in a public space, though.

* * *

 

  **Might as well own up to it and try to be sympathetic, everyone knows you heard.**

 

“Hard not to hear.”  You apologize to Leliana, glancing over your shoulder and offering her a sympathetic smile, “That’s really horrible.  I’m sorry.”

“I will be all right.”  Leliana says, giving a faint sniffle, selecting a brownie from the now-open container.  “It is just very difficult when people turn out to not be who you thought they were.”

“It is more common than you might think.”  Briala declares moodily, staring at her glass, “Especially when there is something they can gain from the deception.”

“You are being exceptionally Orlesian tonight.”  Zevran interrupts, unphased when Briala glares at him again, “Were you planning to start a revolution?”

“Perhaps I will.  Would you like to join me?”  She asks darkly, pushing away from the counter and heading for the door.

“I am a bit too mercenary for causes, but thank you for thinking of me!”  Zevran replies, voice lifting as Briala heads out into the hall, “I think she is in need of a stronger drink.”  He adds, voice dropping.

“But she is right.  There is nothing i can do.”  Leliana sighs, and then gives Josephine a smile at the pat on her shoulder, “Really, Josie, I will be fine.”

“You appear to be lacking a drink.  May I assist you?”  Zevran asks you, stepping back and gesturing to the random bottles tucked onto a corner of the counter, “I have no idea what is in half of these, but that is the fun of it, yes?”

* * *

 

**Nope, but we should mix some weird shots for people.  It’ll be fun.**

“Now that sounds like an excellent plan.”  Zevran decides, grabbing a stack of plastic shot glasses.

He doesn’t bug you about not wanting to drink, and as you both start sorting through the bottles and mixing things, he doesn’t even ask if you want to try any of them.  That’s nice and thoughtful of him, more than you’d expect.

You open one of your sodas for yourself, and then set to work.  Eventually Josephine and Leliana come over to help, and the mood in the kitchen lifts a little bit.  Zevran seems insistent on making the weirdest combinations ever, but Josephine’s a lot more careful.  You’d probably trust her taste before Zevran’s, really.  Leliana seems to be picking her liquors by color, carefully layering them.

Now that’s a talent!  It makes the shots look really pretty.  You’re trying to remember what flavors go together, but some of the bottles have such weird names you’re not sure what they’re supposed to be.

You give it your best shot. _(ha ha, get it?)_

 

In the end you’ve got about a dozen and no idea what they are, but hey, that’s part of the fun.  Loading them up on a plastic plate, you decide where to go.  Josephine and Leliana seem to be putting theirs on the same plate.

* * *

 

**There’s some people out on the deck, remember?  They’re probably cold, the shots will likely be welcome.**

 

You decide to do some exploring.  

The house is big, but luckily, it’s not that confusing.  You peek into a couple rooms that look unoccupied before you find a large living room full of people.  The door to the deck is on the left side, and it looks like there’s a couple people outside.  Everyone in here seems to be watching a movie and discussing it at full volume.  You glance around, but only see a couple faces you recognize, and none that you know that well.

Nobody bothers you as you pass through, shouldering open the door to the deck and duck out before you let in too much cold air.   _Brr!_  It’s freezing out here.  You’re glad you haven’t taken off your jacket.

Unsurprisingly, it looks like you’ve stumbled into the den of smokers.  It’s cold and crisp out, so the air is fresh enough, but there’s a couple people with cigarettes out here.

Also, Sera!  She’s standing next to Anders, of all people, talking in a low tone of voice.  When you approach, she notices you, but shushes you noisily.

“About friggin’ time you got here.”  She hisses at you, scooping up two big handfuls of snow and packing them together.  “C’mere, shut up.  What you got?”

“We were making random shots.”  You say, ignoring the ‘shut up’ part, but keeping your voice down.  And then, because Anders is staring at you, and you’re polite, you greet him, “Hi.”

“Hello…”  He replies, a little bit confused, “You’re Sera’s friend?”

“That would be me!”  You agree, and then startle as Sera abruptly flings her snowball straight down, over the railing.  

Below in the darkness, there’s a very loud curse.

Sera and Anders both duck down, leaving you blinking and staring out into the yard.  A figure yanking snow out of the back of his coat stomps into the lights spilling over the side of the deck, and he glares up at you, eyes narrowed.

Uh oh.

You think you recognize him.  It’s that security guard Solas was talking to once.  Cullen?

* * *

 

**Ice to meet you!**

You are hilarious.  You _feel_ hilarious, as Sera snorts behind her hand, and you don’t let Anders’ quiet  _‘sweet Andraste’_ kill your thunder.  No, this is your moment, and that is an awesome pun.

Cullen’s glare turns slightly bewildered, and then turns to utter exasperation as Sera and Anders pop up, both laughing at him.  And at you, obviously.

Because you are funny as shit.

“I don’t know what was worse, the melting snow down my jacket, or that joke.”  Cullen complains, tromping towards the stairs, reaching up a hand to rub at the back of his neck, “Very funny, Sera.”

“How you know it was me?”  Sera asks belligerently, grabbing one of the shots off of your plate and examining it critically, “Could have been anybody.  Could have run inside.”

“Don’t listen to him, I thought it was quite clever.”  Anders says, and then amends when you give him a look of disbelief, “All right, you caught me, it was terrible.  Charmingly terrible.”

“That’s the point.”  You tell him, and then look over as Sera starts choking, “Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“What the frig did you put in that?”  She accuses in a croak, staring at the shot glass in her hand.

* * *

 

**Blue.  Obviously.  It’s blue flavored.  This one is purple!**

 

“All right.”  Sera sighs exasperatedly, shaking her head at you and reaching for another shot, “Land one joke an’ think you’re a friggin’ comedian.”

“I’m funny.  I’m a very funny person.”  You protest, glancing over as Anders reaches for one of the shots.  “Honestly, though, I have no idea what’s in them.  At least I didn’t try to kill people with mine, unlike Zevran.”

“Well…”  Anders starts, only to be interrupted by Sera.

“Y’know Zev?”  She asks, peering at you.

“Yes…”  You say, and then add, pointing at Anders, “And that’s Anders…and that’s Cullen.”

Cullen peers at your extended finger, glancing over at Sera as she gets a bit in your face.  She looks mad, but by now you can mostly tell the difference.  She isn’t really upset.  Tipsy though, maybe.

“Thought you didn’t know anybody.”  She accuses, lifting her shot and gesturing at you.

“I don’t know her.”  Cullen supplies, lifting a hand to fix his hair.

“He doesn’t know me.”  You tell Sera, grinning at her slight glare, “Would it make you feel better if I pretend I don’t know people so you can introduce me to them?”

“Shut up.”  She says, and then takes the shot.

“Do I know you?”  Cullen asks, looking more confused by the second.

* * *

 

**No, but you know Solas.  I was just kind of standing there when you talked to him once.**

 

Sera makes a rude noise, but you ignore it.  She’s just trying to get a rise out of you, you’ve figured that one out by now.  When you nudge her carefully with your elbow, she laughs.

“Oh!  I apologize that I don’t recognize you.”  Cullen says, somewhat awkwardly.

“Oh, no.  It was literally while you were running by his store.”  You assure him, before he can get any more embarrassed.  “You were chasing after two people yelling at each other.”

“Ah.”  Cullen says, as if that explains everything, “I do happen to do that quite often.  Meredith yelling at someone, I presume.”

“Yeah, that was it.”  You say, giving a small nod of your head, “I…”

“It’s a miracle she hasn’t been fired.  Why is that, I wonder?”  Anders interrupts you, and you realize he’s giving Cullen a pretty nasty look.  “Her continued campaign of harassment must have some official sanction.”

“I believe that’s my cue to step inside.”  Cullen declares, rather than answering Anders, gesturing to the door and stepping back, “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you…”  You start, as he makes his rapid retreat, finishing when the door closes, “Too.  I have a feeling I missed something.”

“Y’don’t want t’know.  Trust me.”  Sera tells you so seriously that you glance at her in surprise.  

“What she means is she doesn’t want to listen to me ramble.”  Anders says self-deprecatingly, and then asks you, “Did you have a good time yesterday?”

Ah.  That’s right.  You _did_ tell him you had plans on Friday.  It’s obvious he’s fishing a little, but he’s been pretty honest about being interested in you from the start.  Now Sera is looking at you questioningly, too. 

* * *

 

**_This is a chance to let him down easy.  Might as well take it._ **

“Thought you worked.”  Sera says, stacking her cups on the plate you’re still carrying.  When you give her a look, she just grins.

She _knows_ what you were doing.  Jerk.

“I did, I had a date after work.”  You tell her, and then smile faintly at the hard look she gives you, teasing, “Deal with it, Sera.  Yes, it was a real date.”

“Really?”  She asks you with disbelief, and then when you life a shoulder, she makes a sound of disgust, “Y’got no taste.”

“So you’ve said!”  You laugh, and then glance at Anders, “Yes, I had a nice time, thanks.”

Well, sort of.  But honestly, it feels kind of wrong to go to into it more than you did earlier to Sera.  Like you’re complaining about Solas.  Which, _maybe_ you kind of want to, but that also feels like not respecting that he wants space.  It’s complicated.  Sometimes the best thing to do is to not get too far into it.

Besides, you’re trying to let someone down, not complain about someone else.

“That’s good!  You know, I think I should find Hawke.”  Anders says, grabbing another shot off of the plate, and lifting it to you with a friendly smile, “Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome.”  You say, and then wait in silence as he retreats.  The door closes, and you look over at Sera.

She stares at you.  

You stare at her.

Your butt is starting to get really cold.

 

“What?”  She finally says, “Either way, you got shit taste.  All the same t’me.”

You start laughing.

* * *

 

**Is there anyone you wanted to introduce me to?  Maybe I haven’t met them yet.**

“Maybe.”  Sera repeats mock-sourly.

She actually seems in a pretty good mood, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you back into the house.  Your feet are a little bit damp, but someone has been keeping the deck clear, so it’s not that bad.  Besides, the house is warm, and before long your ears are flushed and your cheeks are probably red.

Hopefully not your nose, though.

It’s starting to get a bit noisier as people get drunker, and you keep your eyes open for anyone that looks like they need a hand.  At least the party seems to be the cheerful type, you don’t see anyone breaking things or bothering someone who looks uncomfortable.

By the time you make it out of the living room and down the hall, your plate is empty, and then stolen by a very drunk person who has a sandwich and nowhere to put it.  They seem exceedingly grateful for the plate.  

You’re happy you could help.

The closer you get to what looks like another living room (this one in the front of the house), the louder a single voice becomes.  Very loud.  Very gruff…and very drunk.

And, much to your surprise, it turns out to be someone you don’t know.  A red-haired dwarven man appears to be in the middle of a very loud story, which apparently has Alistair (oh, look, it’s Alistair) turning bright red, and a tall woman with short, dark hair looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

“And then I said, I said to the waitress: Well, I can tell you where the salt shaker went, but you’re not gonna like it.”  The man finishes, and then starts laughing uproariously.

“That is disgusting.”  The woman says brusquely, with a crisp Nevarran accent.

“I’m still trying to figure it out.”  Alistair confesses, “What was the bacon grease for?”

“What, did I miss it?”  Sera asks, disappointment clear, “I always miss th’beginning of that story.  Oghren, tell it again.”

“Please do not.”  The woman interrupts, a little desperately.

* * *

 

**Alistair, I just walked in here and I can already tell you what the bacon grease was for.  C’mon, man.**

 

Oghren starts laughing again, slapping his knee as Alistair turns his bewildered gaze on you.  After a few seconds, you finally shrug, and his forehead furrows.

“Riiight.”  He says, giving a small shake of his head, “Maybe it’s better I don’t know.”

“Trust me, it is.”  The woman you don’t know declares, and then turns her attention to Sera, “Is everything all right?”

Well, that’s a weird question.  You give Sera a curious look, but she avoids your gaze, shrugging her shoulders at the woman.  A few seconds pass, and then she finally sighs, heavily.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”  Sera says, and then gives a small snort, “Scared ‘em right off.”

“Wait, did something happen?”  You ask Sera worriedly, glancing from her to the woman.

“Someone was just…hangin’ around in the parking lot other day.  Creepy.”  Sera tells you, and then adds a bit defensively, “I coulda handled it myself, but she’s big and scary.”

The dark-haired woman narrows her eyes slightly, but doesn’t say anything.

“Do you…work with Wynne?”  You ask the woman, glancing between them still, “I haven’t seen anyone hanging around the parking lot.  Do you know them, Sera?”

“Nah, Cassandra works th’other side.”  Sera tells you, and then peers at you, “All the people here, _she’s_ the one you don’t know?”

“I work at the…department of motor vehicles.”  Cassandra tells you, sighing heavily as Oghren starts snickering heavily, “I do not know why that is funny.”

There’s like three conversations going on here at once, and you’re starting to get confused. Eventually, worry for Sera wins out.

“Sera, is someone stalking you or something?”  You ask, and then add, “You should tell Tor, you know they need to know that stuff.”

“Leave it.”  Sera orders you, “A party, innit?   Quit bein’ a pain.”

“Sooo…how about that weather?”  Alistair says, awkwardly.

* * *

 

**There is definitely weather outside.  Have you been keeping up with Local Sports Team?**

 

You decide to leave it for now, but you give Sera the eyeball.  You know, the ‘we’re talking about this later’ eyeball.  She rolls her eyes at you.

“I have heard that if they score more points than the other team, they may win the big game.”  Alistair declares, seeming quite happy to have someone to make stupid jokes with.

“You two are nutters.”  Sera accuses, and then gives a long sigh, “An’ I need another drink.  Hey, what you drinkin’?”

“Soda.”  You tell her, and then grin at her scowl, “I drove.  You’ll be grateful in a few hours when you’re drunk and don’t have to take the bus home.”

“You got a point.  Also, boring.”  She tells you.

Turning around, she wanders off abruptly.  You aren’t worried, she’ll probably be back, unless she gets distracted.

“You work with Sera?”  Cassandra asks you, drawing your attention back.  “You have encountered no difficulties?”

“We mostly work opposite shifts, but yes, I work at the store, too.”  You say, and she nods her head.  “No, nobody’s given me any trouble.  At least not apart from general creepiness.”

“That is good.  Perhaps I will see you some time, since we are neighbors.”  Cassandra tells you, and then lifts a hand to check her watch.  “It is getting late.  I should find Leliana, I think.  Please excuse me, won’t you?”

“Have a good night!”  You tell her, lifting a hand in a little wave.  Whatever else you might say is interrupted by a loud snore.

All three of you glance over at Oghren.  He appears to have passed out in a chair.  Cassandra sighs and shakes her head as she pushes to her feet and heads out.

“Aw, look.  He’s drooling.”  Alistair says, fondly, “Like an adorable bearded baby that smells like the floor of a liquor store bathroom.”

“Should we wake him up?”  You ask.

“No, he’ll just be surly.”  Alistair says, looking back at you, “Trust me, this is preferable.  Drunk people are fun, aren’t they?”

* * *

 

**You’re not drinking?  Why not?**

“I tend to make a bit of an idiot of myself.”  Alistair says, lifting his shoulders in a shrug, “Trying to behave myself and all.  Under strict orders.”

“How’s that working out for you?”  You ask.

“Oh, well, I haven’t nearly injured anyone in ages!  Now myself, that’s another matter, isn’t it?”  Alistair replies, with a small grin.

It doesn’t seem entirely genuine, but you don’t know him well enough to say that for sure.  You’re saved from having to think of a response, because you get hit in the face.

With a pillow.

It comes out of nowhere (probably the archway), smacking into the side of your head as Alistair stares blankly.  Reflexively you reach for it, and realize that it seems to be a decorative throw pillow. 

“I told Carver you were here!”  Bethany exclaims, jabbing a finger at you as you glance over, “See, you’re here!”

Someone is _very_ drunk.

“I am here!”  You agree, glancing down as Bethany wanders over and flops across your lap, legs dangling over the arm of the sofa, “Someone got started early.”

“I can’t hold my alcohol.”  Bethany replies woefully, muffled by the cushions, “Isabela made me a drink.  It tasted good, so I drank it all.  It _betrayed_ me.”

“I’d tell you that you should know better, but I don’t think it would do any good.”  You say, giving her a little pat on the back, which just makes her groan.

“Do you think I should get some water?”  Alistair suggests, a little worriedly.

* * *

 

**Probably not a bad idea.**

 

“Right.  Be right back.”  Alistair says, pushing up after a glance at the still-snoring Oghren.  “I’d bring him something, too, but he gets offended if it’s non-alcoholic.”

After Alistair heads out into the noisier rest of the party in search for water, you start trying to get Bethany sitting upright.  With many apologies, and lots of pulling and tugging, you finally manage to get her slumped on the couch next to you, her head resting on your shoulder.  And then she starts hiccuping.

That’s pretty adorable.

You pat her back and try not to laugh at her as she gets more and more flustered, face red and hiccups squeakier than ever by the time Alistair returns.  He hands you the water, not even bothering to hide his laugh.

“I think there may be a mouse in the house.”  Alistair says, laughing all the harder when Bethany tries to glare at him, “Sorry, sorry.  Couldn’t resist.”

“Here, just drink up.”  You say, tucking the glass into her hands, but keeping one close in case she drops it, “Better for you than whatever Isabela gave you.”

You keep an eye on things while Bethany downs her water.  Carver pokes his head in briefly to check on her, but seems unwilling to hang around.  You’ve apparently parked yourself in the quiet part of the party.  Or, at least the drunken recovery center.  Someone else looking pretty intoxicated wanders in, and curls up in the corner of the room and falls asleep.

They don’t seem to be in any immediate danger, so you leave them be.

Once Bethany’s had her water and the hiccups have been quelled, she seems a little more coherent, but still pretty far gone.

“I forgot to ask you.  Did…did you have fun yesterday?”  She asks you, peering up into your face blearily, “I was going to text you, but I didn’t want to be a bother.”

* * *

 

**I did!  You’ll never guess where he took me.**

 

You’ve been good.  You were nice about letting Anders down, you didn’t say much of anything to Sera, knowing about her feelings.  You’re being completely mature and giving Solas all the space he needs…

You feel like you’re allowed to gush a little bit.  Maybe just skirt the bits that sound…ah…illegal.

“To see the holiday lights?”  Bethany asks, and then tries again at your denial, “Did you go to Varric’s?”

“No.  He took me to the planetarium.”  You tell her, taking the empty glass back from her.

“What, the one they’re getting rid of?”  Alistair asks you, sounding a bit puzzled.

“Yep.”  You say, “To watch the show.  As far as I know, there was no one else there.  It was really amazing.”

“That seems…”  Alistair says dubiously.

“Romantic.  Just you and the stars.”  Bethany interrupts with a gusty sigh, “Wasn’t it?”

“It was…something I’m going to remember for a long time.”  You say, with a small smile, “Even if we don’t go out again.  It’ll be a nice memory.”

“Why wouldn’t you?  Was he rude?  Scary?”  Bethany asks you, pulling back and staring into your face.  “Merrill says he’s scary.  He wasn’t scary at you, was he?”

* * *

 

**I think Merrill’s maybe just psyched herself out a little.  He’s actually really nice!**

“That does sound like Merrill…”  Alistair says thoughtfully, and then lifts his hands when Bethany peers at him, “What?  I’m just here for the gossip.”

“You don’t get to sit around and take gossip unless you have gossip to give.”  You tell Alistair.

Bethany nods her head quite seriously, then stops and closes her eyes with a frown.  She suddenly doesn’t look so great, a little green around the gills.

“Is that so?”  Alistair replies, lifting his arm and staring at his bare wrist. “Oh, look at the time.  Such a shame.  I have to work in the morning.”

“Coward!”  Bethany accuses a little weakly, as he rises to her feet.  “Get back here.”

“Good night.”  Alistair replies, giving a small shake of his head with a lopsided grin, “Take care of her, won’t you?”

“Oh, sure.  Night.”  You reply, and then glance aside as Bethany sighs, slumping even harder against you, “You okay?”

“Head is spinning.”  She murmurs, forehead creasing.

* * *

 

**Right, to the bathroom it is.**

 

What happens next is unsurprising as it is unnecessary to describe.  People get out of your way, and someone points you to the bathroom and clears the way for you.  Bethany apologizes when she isn’t busy being sick, but you’re more worried about her than grossed out.

She sure wasn’t joking when she said she couldn’t hold her liquor.

You find a hair tie for her, freeing you up so you can get her another glass of water.  The bathroom is a hot commodity, you assume, but no one bothers you until she’s miserably spitting a mouthful of water into the sink, and you’re making sure there’s no mess on the floor.

“Heard there’s a problem.”  A voice says from outside, and Hawke pokes their head in, eyebrow raised.  Looking more amused than upset, they grin at Bethany.  “Really?”

“It’s Isabela’s fault.”  Bethany protests, weakly.

“All right, little sister, let’s go for a ride.”  Hawke declares, stepping in and scooping her up easily (and carefully), “Just don’t barf on me.”

“Thank you.”  Bethany says to you, groaning as Hawke turns for the door, “Stop moving.”

“Not moving won’t get you to bed, ya drunk.”  Hawke replies with a laugh.

* * *

 

 

**Wait…Briala knows Felassan, right?  Sure, this is a party, but…maybe we should tell Sera?  She wasn’t there when you saw them together.**

 

 After making sure Bethany is all taken care of, you start wandering your way through the party.  It’s not surprising Sera got sidetracked, it’s pretty noisy now.  At it’s peak, you’d say, a lot of drunk people and laughter and even a couple people getting their smoochies on.

Good for them.

You stop in at the kitchen to get another soda (the brownies are long gone, go you!), and you realize there’s a card game going on in the adjoining dining room.

There she is!

And a few people you recognize, actually.  Varric seems to be dealing, Fenris is glowering behind his cards, and Josephine is nursing a glass of wine and reigning over a massive pile of chips.  She looks both drunk, and terribly pleased with herself.

Sera doesn’t have many chips, but she seems more interested in her beer than the game.  

“Hey, sorry.  Sera, when you have a second, can you talk?”  You ask her, approaching the table with an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, sure.  Foldin’.”  Sera says agreeably, tossing her cards down on the table. 

You were right, she doesn’t really seem to be that into the game.  You lean towards her as you sit, lowering your voice, garnering you a curious look from Fenris.

“I forgot to tell you.  You know Briala, right?”  You ask, and she nods, squinting sidelong at you, “Before we even went to that Gallery…I completely forgot, but I saw her talking to Felassan.  At the cafe at Valmont.”

As that penetrates, she leans back and stares at you.  You shrug, lifting your soda for a sip, and then nearly cough it out when she cuffs you on the shoulder.

“She knows ‘im, an’ you didn’t say anything?”  She asks you, rather loudly.

“I forgot!”  You protest, and then glance up to the head of the table when Varric clears his throat.

“You in or out, Buttercup?”  He asks, shuffling the deck together.

“Nah, I gotta go.”  Sera replies, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to your feet.  “Got to find a person about a dog.”

* * *

 

**No way, this is going to be a disaster!  Let’s do this when you’re sober.**

 

You raise your concern as Sera drags you out into the hall, and she stops short and turns to stare at you.

“Am not!”  Sera protests belligerently, and then asks you, pointedly, “Why’d y’even tell me if you were goin’ tell me not to?”

That…is a good point, actually, and one you have no answer to.  Awkward.  You stare at her for a couple seconds, and then finally lift your soda and take a sip.

She sighs in disgust.

“I don’t know, I just remembered it.”  You finally say, lowering your voice as someone walks by, “What was that about someone coming to work?  Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, yeah, whatever.  Fine.  Nothin’.”  Sera says unconvincingly.

“You’re full of shit.”  You inform her, point blank.

“Yep.”  She agrees, and then rolls her eyes, “Actually nothin’, but I know it doesn’ sound like nothin’, so that’s shit, but it isn’t.”

“You lost me.”  You admit, glancing at her phone as she pulls it out, “You’re going to have to explain.”

“I got a message.  On th’…thing, I showed you?”  Sera explains, opening it up and handing it to you, “Place where I showed the pictures, it was anonymous, like you told me to.  They want to know where I got them.”

“If it’s anonymous, how did they find you?”  You ask, feeling a little uneasy by that.  “You mean like…hackers?”

Suddenly, you’re worried you’re trapped in a movie starring goggles, incomprehensible techno babble, and lots of very fast keyboard smashing.  You were not prepared for this.

You don’t even have a code name.

“Don’t be stupid.”  Sera tells you, much to your relief.  “Nothing’s really anonymous, is it?”

Oh.  Well, that doesn’t make you feel better.

“So they found you…somehow.”  You say, and then squint a little at her guilty look, the sidelong roll of her eyes.  “How?”

“When I took pictures of th’pictures maybe there was a shop bag in one of ‘em.”  Sera admits, and then defensively adds before you can say anything, “Just one!  Y’couldn’t even see th’whole shop name!”

“Holy crap.”  You decide, slapping your hands over your face.

“I got excited.”  Sera says, defensively, and then hurries on.  “Anyways, it’s all right now, was just some dumb kid.  Got too excited, acted stupid, but I talked to them.  It’s all right now.”

* * *

 

**Them?  How?  …How is it all right now?**

 

Sera’s story is long, rambling, and drunk, but by the end of it, you…think you’ve got it straight?  And even though she seems completely sure that everything’s fine, you’re not so sure.  

“So, let me get this straight.”  You finally say, once she’s run out of steam, “There’s some people online who pretend at doing this stuff, like Fen’harel stuff, and they figured out where you work so some dumb kid in the group got too excited and tried to find you?”

“Ain’t pretending!”  Sera protests, a little sourly, “What, just because we’re people, regular people, we can’t do it, too?  Make people listen?”

“That’s not what I meant, Sera.”  You sigh, noticing the ‘we’ pretty obviously.  “Seriously?  Because I don’t think I can afford bail,”

“Then I won’t get caught!”  Sera replies, and then grins broadly, shrugging her shoulders, “Nothin’ wrong with makin’ friends, is there?  You wanna help, don’t you?”

* * *

 

**Wait, you didn’t tell them about where you got the photos, did you?**

 

“No.”  Sera says, avoiding your eyes, “Not really.”

“Sera!”  

You glare at her until she finally looks back at you, and you can tell she looks a little bit guilty.  Great.

“Said I got a friend who knows somebody, that’s all.”  Sera tells you, “Not a lie, is it?”

“I don’t even know how to answer that.”  You tell her, “So you’re just going to be all mysterious, huh?  Pretend like you have these secret friends that know how to get to Fen’harel?”

“How’s that not the truth?”  Sera asks you, crossing her arms.

“Because it’s not!  People who know people who know people…it’s like the world’s worst game of telephone.”  You grouse, rubbing your forehead, “I’m nobody, okay?  And for all you know, so is Felassan.  Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”

“You’re scared.”  She accuses drunkenly, leaning heavily against your arm, “You don’t gotta be scared, okay?  Nobody’s gonna hurt you, they got to get through me.”

* * *

 

**In for a penny, I guess.  What exactly are you guys planning to do, anyways?**

 

“Heard there’s a thing tomorrow.  Not my thing, but a thing.”  Sera says, and you’re becoming aware that she’s leaning pretty heavily on you now, “Thing that’s gonna happen.  Round about the city or something.  Oh!  Did you hear?”

“You are making less sense by the second.  Hear about what?”  You ask, giving in and slinging an arm around her to prop her up.

“Heard that at the big party there’s gonna be a thing.”  You’re pretty sure Sera’s said the word thing about twenty times in a row now.

“Maybe we should wait until you sober up.”  You sigh, trying to drag her down the hall with you.  “Let’s find you somewhere to sit.”

“Valmont party.  The big one.  Saying there’s gonna be a painting, big old…here it is, everybody look sort of thing.”  Sera says, sourly.  “Like he’d do that for some rich frigging bastards.”

You can only assume she means Fen’harel, which makes sense since ‘his’ contacts are through the Valmont family.  Hard to navigate a conversation with her right now, though.

“Well, you already think it’s fake.”  You point out.  “So it’s just one more fake, right?”

“He wouldn’t do that.”  Sera agrees spitefully, “He’d spit right on ‘em.  Tell ‘em to shove their money!”

“That sounds uncomfortable.”  You joke, “So what exactly is the cause?  I’m still not clear on that.”

“Big people are assholes to little people.”  Sera replies, and then swats you away when you try to shove her into a chair.  “Lay off.”

* * *

 

**Sit down and drink some water, or I’m taking you home!**

 

Sera bitches and moans, but she sits her ass down, which is really all you can hope for while she’s so drunk.  Leaving her there, out of the way, you duck in and head for the kitchen.  It’s a bit difficult to navigate, some people are actually just arriving, and even though some have left, there’s now more people here than when you got here.  Wow.  Hawke must know everyone.

Luckily, it’s not hard to find a bottle of water, there’s flats of them stacked up on one side of the kitchen.  Warm, but you doubt anyone really cares.  You grab a plate of chips and crackers and stuff, too, just in case she needs to eat something, and then head back out again, saying hi to Merrill again in passing.

 

Sera’s not in the chair where you left her, you realize the instant you return.  Great.

 

A brief hunt locates her sitting on the back of the couch in the living room, having a very intense discussion with Zevran about the movie.  You can’t quite figure out what exactly they’re caring so much about, but you wander over and hand her the bottle of water. 

She takes a swig without looking at it, and then glances over and gives you a betrayed look.

“Just drink it.”  You order her, and she grumbles, but takes another drink.

“I was wondering where you were hiding.”  Zevran greets you, slinging an arm behind the couch, “You look distressingly sober.”

* * *

 

**That’s me.  Distressingly sober.**

“Ah, well, there is nothing wrong with preferring not to drink.”  Zevran says, waving a hand dismissively.  “As long as it does not dampen the mood, no?”

“If you ask Sera, I might be ruining it.”  You joke, glancing down at her.

She seems enraptured with the movie, sliding off of the back of the couch to park on a cushion, but every now and again reaches over and steals a tortilla chip from your plate.  The bottle of water is half empty, but you keep an eye on it.

“Looking after people is not mood ruining, unless you lecture them.”  Zevran tells you, and then pauses, reaching up and stroking his chin, “Though, I am partial to a good reprimanding, should the occasion arise.”

“Wot?”  Sera asks, and then scowls when he pats her on the head, “Lay off.”

Abruptly Josephine appears from behind you, leaning over the back of the couch, cheeks red.  She gathers up Zevran’s hair, plaits a braid into the side, and then turns around and wanders off again, without saying a word.  Zevran takes a sip of his drink.

* * *

 

**I left my riding crop at home, sorry.**

 

“ _Really_ …”  Zevran says, with a grin, “I would love to be introduced some time.  Or perhaps it is a bit too shy to come out in public?”

“Well, you sure aren’t, are you?”  You say playfully, and he laughs.

You realize, after a second, that Sera is eyeing both of you silently.  You can’t tell if she’s disgusted, or confused.  Maybe both.  

“No, I like to consider myself a fairly…up front person.”  Zevran says, lifting his glass to you, “About things I find interesting.”

“Interesting?”  You ask.

“Yes.  Though, perhaps intriguing is the better word.”  He says, grin widening, “My curiosity is what some might call…insatiable.”

You’re not sure at this point if he’s just flirting, or actually serious.  One is fun, the other is still fun, but way more complicated.  Still, it is a party, and technically you’re not in a relationship or anything.

One date is hardly a commitment, right?

* * *

 

**Luckily, it’s about the journey, not the destination, don’t you think?**

 

“Ah, I have never particularly thought so…”  Zevran says, lips twisting up into a wry smirk, “But there is enjoyment to be found in both, I suppose.  Not every journey, to continue your metaphor, has to end up somewhere.”

“Where are we goin’?”  Sera interjects, a bit vaugely.

You recognize this state, though you’ve only seen it once or twice.  The time of night when Sera goes from drunk to sleepy drunk.  If you’re not careful, she’ll crawl under a table somewhere and go to sleep.  It generally goes from messing with people, to hanging out (and arguing), and then finally to naptime.

Hopefully you’ve helped her avoid a hangover.

“Nowhere, Sera, don’t worry about it.”  You tell her with a little grin.  “At least I’m not.”

She looks at you suspiciously, chewing slowly on another cracker.

“I am not one to press, never fear.  Unless asked to, of course.”  Zevran says, with a sly grin, “Hard to get is not a particularly entertaining game unless both parties are aware of it, no?”

“Yeah, you’ve got that right.”  You agree.  “You don’t think I’m…”

“Not at all.”  Zevran interrupts you, “I enjoy a bit of verbal sparring for its own sake.”

That’s good, at least.  Nice that he’s so honest about it.

You share a smile with him, and then glance at a nearby clock.  Wow, it’s past one already.

You do have to go somewhere tomorrow, but not until after lunch.  You could afford to stay out a bit later, even if Sera’s about to pass out.  She’s a big girl, she can handle herself, after all.

* * *

 

**Okay, I think I need to get Sera home.  Sorry, Zevran.**

 

“I will try not to miss you too terribly.”  Zevran says, grinning at you.

“I’m sure I’ll randomly see you somewhere I didn’t even know you worked.”  You say, and he laughs.

Stepping around the couch, you grab Sera’s arm and give her a little tug.  She wobbles to her feet and then slumps against you, blinking blearily.

“Where we goin’?”  She asks you.

“Home.”  You say, succinctly, “Do I need to get some caffeine in you?”

“Nah, nah, all right.”  She promises, pulling herself upright and rubbing her eyes with both hands, “Be nice t’wake up in my bed for once.”

“I have always found it a bit overrated.”  Zevran says, and then laughs at the look Sera gives him, “Good night to you, too.”

“Night.”  She mumbles, giving him a swat on the shoulder before following after you as you head around the couch.

The party’s still fairly noisy, but Sera’s not the only one a bit out of it.  There’s a couple people slipping out as you head towards the front of the house, making sure Sera doesn’t wander off.

Abruptly she plops down on the floor in front of the shoe pile, and starts digging through it as you stare down at her.  Well, at least she’s looking.

* * *

 

**I need to do a quick run-through of the house, someone else might need a ride.  Don’t want anyone doing anything dumb.**

 

You leave Sera at the shoe pile and start a survey of the house.  Most people seem to still be having a good time, you do find Hawke easily enough.  They say Bethany’s doing fine, out like a light, so that’s good.  You say thanks and goodbye, and get a very awkwardly enthusiastic hug that you were not expecting at all.

Yikes, Hawke is strong.

You duck into the kitchen, barely remembering your brownie container.  The last of the chips and salsa can stay, you did bring them for the party.  Over in the dining room, you hear arguing, quite loud arguing.  Actually, you recognize both of the voices!  It’s Leliana and, surprisingly…you’re pretty sure the other person is Dorian?

Why are you surprised by that?  Everyone knows everyone, you should be aware of it by now.

Outside of the kitchen, through the door to your right, you can faintly see Anders staring out at the back yard from the wrap-around side of the deck.  He doesn’t look too cheerful, and you think he might be by himself.

* * *

 

**Let’s go poke our heads into the dining room.  Leliana wasn’t doing good earlier, maybe she needs a ride.  Besides, we can say hello to Dorian.**

 

You peek into the dining room, curious to see what’s going on in there now.  It’s not just Dorian and Leliana, but Merrill and Varric, too.  Merrill is just building a house of cards with Varric’s deck and talking to him, seeming blithely unconcerned with the argument.  

Dorian slaps the table at the end of a sentence, making it tumble down.  She just sighs, and starts all over again.  You’re a bit confused why no one seems to care, until you realize Dorian and Leliana are arguing about.

“It is ridiculous not to know how.”  Leliana says sharply, jabbing a finger in Dorian’s direction, “What would you do, if you were on a boat, and someone threw you over the side?”

“Well, for starters, I wouldn’t go on the boat in the first place.”  Dorian replies dismissively, “So it’s hardly a concern.”

Leliana notices you, since she’s the one facing you, and scoffs to you as if it were a horrible travesty, still a bit too loudly, “Dorian cannot swim.  He is a grown man, and he cannot swim!  Can you believe it?”

“Tell the whole bloody world, why don’t you?”  Dorian retorts, and then glances over his shoulder at you, “Oh.  Hello again.”

“Hello.”  You greet, feeling a good deal better, “I’m taking Sera home.  Looking around to see if anyone else needs a ride.”

“Josephine and I are going to call a taxi.”  Leliana tells you tipsily, distracted away from her interrogation of Dorian, “Josie is drunk.”

“Yes, just her.”  Dorian agrees sarcastically, and then says to you, “You’re just around the corner from us, aren’t you?”

“I am.”  You confirm, as he checks his watch, “Do you need a lift?”

“What is it, Sunday?  Yes, I should be getting home.”  Dorian says, nodding his head to you, “Thank you.  Do you have room for two more?  I should check up on Dagna.”

* * *

 

**Yeah.  Just going to check if Anders needs a ride, then I’ll meet you at the front.**

 

You duck back out of the dining room after a farewell and pass through the kitchen, heading for the door you saw him out of earlier.  He’s still out there, reading something on his phone.  When you open the door, he jumps a little, glancing over his shoulder, hair falling in his eyes.  The phone gets tucked into his pocket, quickly.

“Hey.  I’m giving rides, do you need one?”  You ask, offering a quick smile.

“No, I don’t think so.”  Anders says, pushing the hair back out of his face, pulling a hair band off of his wrist an twisting up his hair.

“Okay, goodnight!”  You reply, and start to pull back.

“Just…a second?”  He says, quickly.  “Sorry, can I ask you something?”

Not entirely sure that’s a great idea, but at least he doesn’t sound like he’s about to make any grand confessions.  

“As long as it’s quick.”  You joke, looking upwards, “It’s cold as heck out here!”

“Good for clearing the head.”  Anders agrees, relaxing a little bit, “I just wanted to know…”

He trails off into silence, staring at you for a second, and then abruptly clearing his throat when you tilt your head.

“How are the kittens?”  He finishes at last.

“Doing good.  Trouble!”  You say, smiling brightly.  “Getting bigger all the time.”

* * *

 

**I haven’t told them yet they’re adopted.  I’m afraid I’ll break their hearts.**

 

“I would think they’d be quite grateful, not upset.”  He replies, looking a little less gloomy, managing a wry smile, “I apologize, if I have made things a bit awkward.”

“It’s okay.”  You assure him quickly, giving a small shake of your head, “Really.  It’s okay.”

He doesn’t seem like he wants to go any further than that, which is fair.  He gives you a nod and another smile, this one more relaxed, and then glances back over his shoulder at the yard.

“Looks like it’s going to be a bit of a cold winter.”  He tells you, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Drive safely.”

“If they’re annoying I’ll just make them all sit together in the back seat.”  You say with a smile, “Good night, Anders.”

“Good night.”  He says, turning back to the railing.

 

You head back into the house, feeling a little better now.  That might have eaten you up if you just left him there and didn’t check in on him.  With your tupperware in hand, you make your way slowly to the front of the house, saying goodbyes where necessary.  

Dagna, Dorian, and Sera are waiting for you at the door, and you grab your shoes quickly.  Pulling Sera up off of the floor (and grateful Dagna seems to be keeping her awake with chattering), you all head out into the cold.

“Is she going to be sick?”  Dorian asks you as you all head down the sidewalk, giving Sera a dubious look as she sways against you, “If so, I would like to be as far away from her as possible.”

“Shut up.”  Sera suggests to Dorian, scowling, “Can hold my drinks.”

“Really?  So the drunken swaying is just an optical illusion?”  Dorian asks, “No, I can hold my liquor.  You can’t even hold your _head_ up.”

Maybe you should avoid putting them together.  And not just because of the vomit.  You’re not sure you want to listen to bickering the whole way home.

* * *

 

**Dorian can sit in the front, it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to.**

 

Dorian’s quite good company, his sense of humor is cuttingly sarcastic, and he seems to be quite talkative tonight.  Even though he’s composed, you have a sneaking suspicion he’s not entirely sober.  Dagna’s chattering away at Sera in the back, and Sera seems to be enjoying it, so that’s nice.  You’re not sure what they’re talking about, but it gets noisy at times.

Sera’s first, since Dorian and Dagna live so close to you.  You’ve been to Sera’s place once, enough to find it with the help of your phone.  Her building’s a bit run down, but she says the people are good, and so are her roommates.

When you pull up to the curb down the block from her house, you offer to walk her up, but she waves you off.  Still, you keep an eye on her until she gets inside, and then immediately text her.  It seems having someone to talk to did wake her up nicely, because she texts you right back and tells you to shove off and stop worrying.

You figure that’s as good as you’re going to get.

 

Sera’s not too far out of the way to get home, maybe only an extra five or ten minutes.  You’re starting to get a better idea of how everyone knows each other now…it’s complicated, but funny.  Apparently Dorian knows Leliana from the mall, and knows Fenris from the University (you didn’t even know Fenris was at the University, or that he and Dorian have some sort of weird hate/friendship thing going on), and Dagna knows Alistair and Leliana because they let her stay with them when she left home with basically nothing to go to school…

Like you said, complicated.  Confusing.  And yet somehow it makes things clearer at the same time.

Then again, at this point, is your meeting and greeting people who know each other any less complicated and confusing?

By the time you drop off Dorian and Dagna, you have his number in your phone now, and on the way out he informs you that you’re having lunch with him on Monday, since you both work.

Well, okay then.

 

It’s past two in the morning when you get home, but the cats are up.  You’re not surprised by that, they’re getting in their nightly crazies.  It’s kind of nice to have someone waiting for you to get home, even if they show their appreciation by climbing up your leggings and gouging claws into your knee.

You feed them, check your messages, and toss your tupperware in the sink.

 

##  **END OF DAY 7**

It’s very late, but you don’t have to meet Cole at the senior center until about one in the afternoon.  Should you set an alarm?

 

You set your alarm for ten, and head to bed.  

## Good night.  

 


	8. Sunday, 4th of Umbralis

You wake up a bit before your alarm, but since you fed the cats last night, they decide not to wake you at the crack of dawn.  You’re feeling well rested, and have time for a good long shower and breakfast before you have to head out and meet Cole.

The senior center is nice in a homey, faded way, and the weekend activity director seems really happy to see you.  There’s no nurses in sight, this seems more like a retirement home than a nursing home.  You’re shown to a large sun room, windows overlooking the small walled garden, with a long table down the center of it.

Cole’s already there, and very happy to see you.

You help him set things up as people wander in.  Everyone seems to know him, and are pretty curious about you.  You end up saying maybe five or six times that you’re not his girlfriend, much to the disappointment of a few of the women.  Some of them just seem to think that means you need to hear about their grandchildren who need a partner.

It’s funny, but some of them seem -really- serious about it.  Eventually, though, they turn to gossiping, which is even more entertaining.  Who knew old people got up to so much trouble!

You all settle in to play, or in your case, completely annihilated.  They sure aren’t holding back on you any.

The competition is _vicious._

You play for a couple of hours, and then chat for a bit longer.  It’s actually nice, you’re having a pretty good time.  It’s nice to spend time with Cole, and it feels like this is a bit more relaxing for him than it would have been if you’d invited him to that noisy, busy party last night.

When you finish, it’s about four, already getting dark outside.  At least the sky is clear, you don’t think it’s going to snow tonight.

* * *

 

**Invite Cole over for dinner and to hang out.**

Cole seems quite happy to come with you, though he’s driven himself.  He does need to make a stop first, so you follow him there.  He’s going to the nearest Chantry, it seems, a building easy enough to spot by the large parking lot (rare in the city) and the iconography.  It’s a pretty dull-looking building, utilitarian orange brick with a brown roof, but they’ve spruced it up a bit with some Satinalia decorations.

You only gave him the flyer the other day, but it seems that Cole took the clothing drive pretty seriously.  You park in the Chantry lot next to him, and he’s already pulling bags out of the back seat of his car.

“Wow, this is…”  You say, slamming your door and pacing over to join him, “Wow, a lot.”

“On Sunday mornings the shop by the bus depot sells things for only ninety nine cents.”  Cole tells you, letting you take one of the bags for him, “If you go right away, you can get a lot of things.”

“I haven’t had time to pick up anything myself.”  You confess, a little awkwardly.

“You did help!”  Cole points out, pulling out another bag and hefting it up, “You showed other people how they can help.  I don’t always know how…to help, but I want to.  You showed me how.”

* * *

 

**That’s true!  Thank you, Cole.**

 

“You’re welcome.”  Cole says firmly.

You both approach the door, and you move quickly to get it for him.  He’s carrying a lot more than you.  Luckily, the drop off bin is just inside the door, with one of the flyers plastered to the front.  There’s a couple things inside it, but not a lot…then again, you don’t know how often they empty it.

But, with Cole’s bags, it’s nicely filled up.  That’s a good feeling, even if you did just pass out the flyers and help carry.

Errand done, it’s not too long of a drive to your building.  Thankfully it’s still warm enough that the roads aren’t icy, even though the snow from last night is melting.  It doesn’t make for a very pretty scene- dingy slushy snow instead of white and fluffy, but it’s safe.

“I plan to make a ton of food.”  You tell Cole, as you both head up the sidewalk for the building, “I’m trying to prep food for work for the week, to save money.  It’ll save time if I just make a whole lot of dinner, and then pack up the leftovers.”

“I can help.”  Cole offers.

“Thanks.  I don’t have recipes or anything, just…you know, basic things.”  You say, and then shrug.  “Rice, vegetables and meat…”

“I like to cook, too.”  He tells you.

It seems like he might have something else to say, but he falls silent as you open your front door, and are immediately greeted by an escapee.  Fen darts past your feet, a little orange blur, and you’re too shocked to immediately go after him.

Luckily Cole’s faster than you- surprisingly fast, and while you’re still blinking, he’s after the kitten and scooping him up.

“He’s quick!”  Cole tells you, as Fen pops his head out of his grip and starts trying to climb his arm, “I think he wants to explore.”

“I think he wants to give me a heart attack.”  You tell Cole, opening the door for him and following him in.  “Living up to his namesake, my little Fen’harel.  Trouble.”

You close the door and turn back, to meet Cole’s very intensely searching gaze.  He actually seems a little bit surprised, or taken-aback.

* * *

 

**What did I say this time?**

 

 

“His name is Fen’harel?”  Cole asks in response to your question, glancing down at the cat.

“Yeah.  Are you a fan of his art?”  You say, scooping up Atisha when she comes to greet you, scratching her ears.  “Sera’s had me looking up all this stuff, so I guess the name stuck in my head.”

As always, she tries to flop on her back in your arm and get her belly petted while she’s carried like a baby.  You oblige, but become slightly concerned that your cat doesn’t know how to cat.

“It’s important.  Art is.”  Cole says, pulling claws out of his sleeve, “Even if he doesn’t think his is.”

That’s kind of an odd thing to say.  Which, you know Cole just thinks a little differently than most people, that’s part of why you like him.  His perspective is interesting, but even for his usually different point of view, that’s a curious thing to say.

“How…would you know that?”  You ask Cole curiously, putting down Atisha when she bites the crap out of your fingers.  

You might be starting to become immune to kitten teeth.

“Because he puts it on things that will be ruined.  Tries to make other people care.”  Cole continues, finally managing to get Fen to stop attacking him.  He scratches the kitten behind his ears, and then sets him down on the ground.  “He takes things that are already important and paints them, and hopes that will save them, but it doesn’t.  Not always, and not the right way.  It’s not the art people should be sad about.

“I don’t think I’ve heard that point of view before.”  You say, mulling it over, “Seems kind of like a roundabout way to protest progress.”

“Progress means forward.  Future.  Can’t be stopped, it’s always happening.  Does it have to mean destroying the past?”

* * *

**Progress should also mean better, but I guess it doesn’t, necessarily.  You’re right, it shouldn’t be that way.  People lose their homes, neighborhoods, their jobs.**

 

“There are buildings no one lives in, and people who need homes can’t live in them.  There is food and clothes no one want, but we can’t give them to them.”  Cole says, giving you a smile that you can’t help but return.  “You understand.”

“I guess in that way it’s kind of sad.”  You say, heading for the kitchen, “That he put his art up, put his soul into it, knowing it would probably be destroyed.”

“Yes.”  Cole agrees, and then frowns slightly, “But it still matters, even though it’s gone.”

“I guess so.  Maybe it matters more because it’s gone.”  You say, and then blink and shake your head, “You got me thinking too much.  I’m being a horrible host.  Do you want something to drink?  There’s wine, and some beers, and a couple of sodas…and water, of course.”

“I would like some water, thank you.”  Cole says, rather happily.

You get him a glass of water, and then start digging through your fridge and freezer, figuring out what you’re going to make for the week.  Cole seems more curious than interested in putting in his two cents, but when you figure out what you’re going to make, he proves to be really good with a knife.

The conversation tends to meander, and get oddly vague at times, but he’s actually quite comforting company.  He’s also a really good listener.  It’s been a busy few weeks, and it’s nice to have some time to relax and just chat with a friend while you get things done around the house and have dinner.  He’s not the sort of guest that really needs much, and he’s, unsurprisingly, happy to help.

It’s a nice evening, but by eight or so, he has to get going.  You say your goodbyes, and send him home with some leftovers.

Although, knowing him, he’ll find someone who needs them more than he does.  You’re more than okay with that.

 

Once you clean up the kitchen and get your food all parceled up and packed away into the fridge (you’re set for the week for lunches!  go you!), it’s about eight thirty.  You work the morning shift tomorrow, should probably leave the house about nine.  Which means you’ve got plenty of time.

* * *

**Laundry!  It’s Sunday, which everyone knows is adulting day.  Don’t want to get stuck without underwear.  And we should text Dorian.**

 

 

 

You get your laundry going, texting Dorian as you work.  He’s a bit slow responding, though what you know from his courseload, it’s probably because he’s studying.  You can’t even imagine taking all that complex math, but he claims he enjoys it.

Well, better him than you.

 

  
  
  


 

 

He confirms, and at that point you let him be to do his work.  Once you get all your laundry folded and put away, there’s just enough time to put on something to watch and hang out in bed with the cats.  Having gotten everything done you needed to, you feel pretty good and are able to relax comfortably.  

You do not, however, drink an entire bottle of wine and read salacious literature, though it is tempting.  It depends on how salacious the literature is, really.  Eventually you fall asleep at a pretty good hour, alarm set for another day of work ahead.

 

##  **End of Day 8**


	9. Monday, 5th of Umbralis

You wake up before your alarm, but thankfully you and the cats seem to be adjusting to each other- they don’t wake you up again.  When you do wake up, though, Atisha comes back to bed and cries at you until you pick her up and pet her for a while.  Such a baby.

It’s a nice, calm morning, you have plenty of time to shower and make breakfast before heading on in to work.  You leave the cats napping and with a full bowl of food, and head on back to the Kirkmall.  

Something seems off, you notice to your left when you’re driving in.  It just lodges in your mind as a sort of ‘weirdness’, until you’re locking your doors and you realize what was strange.  

The Valmont parking lot was full of people.

Leaving the shop behind, you head up the sidewalk towards the corner, passing by the DMV and the smoke/beer shop on the corner (ironic placing and all).  It’s not a great view, but you’re around the bulk of the Hanged man blocking your view, and you can see between the cars that there does seem to be people.

A lot of people.  People holding signs.

“Huh, it’s a protest.”  You murmur under your breath, and then shake your head. 

Interesting, but you do have a job to do.  Maybe you can get a closer look when you head in to lunch.  Kitty’s just pulling in as you return to the shop, which is a nice change of pace.  You get the door for her, since you’re not sure how she could insert the keys with the new monster set of nails she’s wearing.  They’re weirdly sharp.

She seems hung over, and therefore somewhat efficient for once (probably to get you out of her hair so she can hole up in the back).  Within ten minutes you’re clocked in and set up with a drawer.  

Mondays at the porn store are quiet, you could probably get away with some phone usage if you wanted to, while you work.

* * *

 

**Let’s check out the news.  See if there’s anything more about Fen’harel and those photos?  People have had them for a couple days now.**

 

You go to Sera’s art forum, because it’s really the first place that you can think of.  Besides, they collect news articles, so if there’s anything worth looking at, it might be there.  You scroll through a few pages before you find anything, which is an interesting dissection of the pictures.  It even has a map!

You don’t learn a whole lot that might be of use, but it’s fun reading people’s speculations about when things were painted, and where they were, breaking it down by things as tiny as the type of paint, or the bricks this or that wall is made from.

You’re relatively new in town, so this is fairly interesting history you don’t know that much about.

Nobody even seems to be doubting they’re real.  You also find out, amusingly, that Fen’harel was a name given to him because he seemed to have a thing for painting wolves, not one he gave to himself.  Eventually he just sort of took it and ran with it.

People are really happy to have the photos, even if they’re still trying to find information about the originals (both the paintings and the photos).  It makes you feel good, actually.  It’s something people are excited about.  It’s not much, but to them, it matters.  You wonder if you can get Sera to donate the photos anonymously somewhere, or something.

You have a feeling you’d have to pry them out of her cold dead hands.

There’s a bit of news about the Halamshiral thing Sera was up in arms about.  It seems Celene Valmont will be unveiling a gallery in the historical estate at the masque, with some sort of huge Fen’harel piece as the center of it all.  You can see why she’s mad.

Taking something meant for the people, meant to- like Cole said- preserve things that they were destroying, and pat themselves on the back over acquiring it and appreciating it.

_Yuck._

While you’re still mulling that over in your head, you hear the front door chime.  Much to your surprise, it’s not one of the regulars, but Merrill you spy coming through the front doors, her arms occupied.

* * *

 

**Morning, Merrill!  What are you doing here of all places?**

 

 

“I’m working, of course!”  Merrill replies cheerfully, gesturing with her free hand to her apron.

You realize it’s just a plain cardboard box she’s carrying in her other arm, but it doesn’t look sealed.  When you give her a puzzled look, she just beams at you, broadly.  Actually, she looks pretty darn excited.

“Working?”  You ask, glancing from her apron back to the box, “Then you shouldn’t be at the shop?”

“No.”  Merrill replies playfully, and then finally gives a little laugh, “I’m making a delivery, silly.”

“A delivery…”  You say, watching as she sets the box down on the counter and opens it carefully, “Wait, for me?  Really?  You’ve got to be joking.”

Merrill just laughs cheerfully, reaching into the box and pulling out a short, round pale green vase.  The flowers carefully arranged in it aren’t roses, or anything you might find in the grocery store cooler.  Instead it’s branches of thickly-clustered deep purple flowers, and little stems of hanging bell-like white blossoms with broad, tall leaves.  They smell amazing, actually, sweet and intoxicatingly rich, even nicer than roses.

“Aren’t they just lovely?”  Merrill asks you, fishing a card out of the box and handing it to you, “I do like lilacs, don’t you?  The little ones are lily of the valley.  It’s nice to work with something different for a change.”

You take the card from her fingers silently, still a little too stunned to respond.  Merrill just stands there, gazing at you.

Waiting for you to open the card, probably.

* * *

 

_Open it, but read it to yourself.  She won’t mind._

 

Giving Merrill a small smile, you take the card, glancing down at it as she hands it over to you.  You’re excited, a flutter in the pit of your stomach that almost makes you nervous as you thumb the tucked-in flap of the envelope out.  The card is fairly plain, just one of the ones they probably have on hand at the shop.  You flip it open, feeling your cheeks burn as you scan it quickly.  It’s written in a slanted, broad hand, the kind that takes just a second before you realize it’s completely legible, just a bit odd.

_I hope that you will forgive me for my old-fashioned sensibilities, but a simple text message seemed inadequate to express the depths of my feelings.  I would be very happy if you would accept these flowers as my thanks for your patience and understanding.  If either has been strained by my silence, you have my humblest apologies._

_I have enjoyed the time we spent together, and I while I am grateful you indulged me in my morose wanderings down memory lane, I realize now that it was not precisely what one could consider an appropriate first date._

_May I try again?_

_No matter your answer, please be assured that the sentiments in this letter still stand._

_~Solas_

 

When you finally manage to tear your gaze away from the letter, you realize Merrill is still beaming happily at you.  In fact, she’s practically bouncing on her toes in excitement.

“You were right.”  She confides, “He’s not so scary after all.”

* * *

 

_You really can’t say anything right now.  Maybe some embarrassingly flustered laughing and turning red._

 

Merrill giggles at you as you cover your face with your hands and laugh, cheeks hot.  It takes a minute before you can regain your composure, though you’re still grinning like an idiot.  Folding up the card, you tuck it securely back into its envelope, maybe a bit more carefully than necessary.

“It’s very sweet.”  Merrill tells you, still smiling, “I was so surprised when he came in!  I thought he would be stern at me again, but he was very nice, even though we didn’t have the color he wanted.”

“They’re pretty.”  You say, smile deepening just a little more, “I’m surprised he cared that much to be so careful.  Most people just go in and get the roses or daisies or something.”

“Oh, yes, the big gerbera daisies, especially.  Those are very popular!”  Merrill says, nodding her head vigorously, “But he knew just what he wanted.  I should be getting back to work, though.  I’ll talk to you soon…oh, do I have your phone number?”

She doesn’t, which you both rectify before she goes dashing out of the shop…you have a feeling she wasn’t supposed to stay this long.  Once she’s gone, you indulge in burying your face in the flowers and breathing them in.  So much nicer than daisies, and not cloyingly sweet.  

You’ll have to hide them when you go on break.

* * *

 

**Wait a second.  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  She said he was being awfully picky about the flowers…could there be a reason why?**

 

When you get a minute, after dealing with a particularly annoying customer, you take some time to do some online searching.  Amusingly, maybe because of Dorian’s accusations of ‘salacious literature’ last night, you have a good idea of what to look for.  Floriography.  The language of flowers, as they call it.  There’s no way to tell for sure, of course, if he meant for you to hunt for a hidden meaning or not, but there’s something so ridiculously, endearingly nerdy about the fact that he might have that you’re inclined to believe it’s true.  

It’s not that long of a search, it doesn’t take you more than a minute to figure out.  Or, at least you think you do.  The lily of the valley that’s pretty clear (and makes you blush all over again), but the lilac's a little more obtuse.  You assume Merrill meant they didn’t have the color of lilac he wanted, because lily of the valley only comes in one color.  You’re really _hoping_ he didn’t want white, because frankly, innocence really wasn’t what you were going for.

Not even remotely.

You’re assuming he meant to get the actually lilac colored lilacs, which, well…does not help with the blushing problem.  If you’re interpreting things correctly, it’s actually a little forward of him.  If he meant it.  Which he might not have.  Or he did mean it but didn’t think you meant it.  Or it could just be a little joke.

And…you’ve just spent twenty minutes picking apart a bouquet someone sent you in search of hidden meaning.  

_Crap, you are such a nerd._

* * *

 

**Well, there’s no way we’re not going to do it back, right?  Who says only girls get flowers?**

 

It’s a little bit silly, communicating with flowers, but on the other hand, it’s kind of exciting, too.  Playing at a bit of clandestine romantic communication.  You have a feeling Merrill’s going to be absolutely delighted by it, too, even if she doesn’t get the hidden meaning behind it.

Then again, maybe she does, and just didn’t say anything?  She did very specifically tell you that he was very careful about the flowers.  Dropping a hint?  You have a feeling there’s a lot more going on behind the innocent smiles than she lets on.

And, you know, if he didn’t actually mean it, you’re just being nice and sending him some flowers back.

It’s about an hour until your break, so you have some time to figure out what you want to send back.  You can stop at the flower shop on your way in to meet Dorian.

 

**What are you going to send?**

* * *

 

**White camellia, jonquil, chamomile flowers, white ivy.  Gracefully elegant and lightly scented.** _Meanings: You’re adorable, affection returned, patience, affection._

 

You’re ambivalent, there’s so many possible choices, and possible combinations of choices, but eventually you think you have something.  Hopefully they have all of the flowers you need.  By the time you have it all sorted out, Kitty slumps out of the back with a bottle of ‘water’ and a frown and waves you off.

You tell her you have an errand to run, but as always, she doesn’t seem to mind if you’re a few minutes late or early, she just tells you not to take forever.  From what Sera’s told you, she’s probably just glad to have someone reliable and low-drama.

  
As you head out into the cold and across the street, you remember the protest that you noticed this morning.  That’s the closest entrance to the flower shop, so you have to go right by it.  Despite it, the lot is basically full, and people are constantly leaving and entering the mall in a steady stream, even into Valmont’s main entrance.   The protest seems to be fairly peaceful, if noisy, though you see a few officers lingering off to the left, talking.

One of them, red hair peeking out from under her hat, gives you pause.  Oh, hey, it’s Aveline!

Now that you’re close, you can see what the protest is all about.  Wages and unfair firing practices, it seems.  You don’t know a lot about it, but now that you have more information, you could probably find out some things online.

* * *

 

**Flower shop, lunch.  But we can duck out of lunch early to come back around again, try to figure this out.**

 

You navigate your way past the crowd of protesters and into the side entrance, rather than braving the main entry of Valmont.  You’re grateful you have, because as you duck inside into the blast of warmth and the glitter of the beautiful decorations overhead, you realize that in the store is…chaos.

That’s all you can describe it as.

From where you are you can see one of the myriad check-out kiosks, being manned by a single flustered woman under verbal assault from maybe a dozen people.  The normally pristine floors to either side of the walkway are strewn with discarded garments, hangers.  Normally the signs of holiday shoppers would be cleaned up by discreet employees, but not today, it seems.

It’s almost shocking, Valmont is one of those places you never expect to see in such disarray- the kind of place you go to buy a single piece of makeup, or pick hopefully through the sale shoes, but not actually shop at.

The cafe is still staffed, though, you see Briala briefly behind the counter as you pass by it, heading southwards towards the fountain, and beyond to the flower shop.  It’s a bit of a trek, weaving through holiday shoppers, but eventually you make it.

Luckily Merrill’s still there, when you burst through the doors into the humid heat of the shop, and she fixes you with a surprised stare, hands full of scissors and half-curled ribbon, glitter in her hair.

You want to get this made and delivered quickly, but you’re sure they have a million orders.  Still, she delivered Solas’ right away, maybe you can find a way to get her to do the same for you?

* * *

 

**How would you feel about playing cupid again, Merrill?**

 

Her face lights up instantly.  Yep, that did the job.

You outline your needs quickly, and she goes delving into the coolers to see if she has what you need.  Sadly, the ivy doesn’t seem to be available- maybe if you had more time to hunt you would have been able to find something.  She does have white camellias, absolutely gorgeous cream-shaded white blossoms with lots of dense petals.  Jonquils as well aren’t difficult to find.  

You noticed when you were researching, but apart from the leaves they look a lot like daffodils, but white petaled with pale yellow trumpets.  The leaves are quite different, though.  The chamomile is something you’re worried over, but luckily they have those as well.  Just no white ivy, which is a shame.  She does add some neutral greenery and such to make it uniform and aesthetically pleasing, a pretty white bouquet with pops of yellow.

You spring for the vase, because he did, might as well, right?  It’s not grocery store carnations cheap, but you end up spending more than twenty five bucks on it.

Still, well, you can’t put a price on oblique, archaic flirting, right?

* * *

 

**Ugh, it might make me late, but I have to think of SOME kind of thoughtful note, like his.  For the love of god, just tell me how he reacts when he gets it!**

Merrill seems amused by your vehemence, giggling as she hands you a card and a pen.  You give her a flustered smile, and then start wracking your brain for the right thing to say.  Simple is good, right?  Something neat and simple that conveys your sentiments without being…you know, over-enthusiastic.  Which, you are enthusiastic, but you don’t want to come across…

Maybe you should just relax and give it a shot.  Deep breath, and write.  You’re good at this, you write.  You can do this.

_  
Solas,_

_Thank you for the flowers, and the sentiments, both brightened up my day.  I hope this does the same for you.  There’s no need for apologies, though, or second chances at first dates._

_I’d much rather take a first chance at a second date._

There.  Short, sweet, a little bit cheeky.  No need to go overboard with it, right?  Pleased with yourself, you sign it with a flourish.  Despite Merrill’s curiosity, you tuck away the card into its small envelope, and slip it into the bouquet.  All paid up, and only running a couple minutes behind, you’d better get moving if you don’t want to annoy Dorian.

You give Merrill your thanks and say goodbye, and she promises she’ll deliver it as soon as she gets a minute.  You don’t know how long that’s going to be, but now you’re not going to be able to stop thinking about it!  At least she is delivering it for you, which is already above and beyond.  No point in badgering her for a time.

* * *

 

**Text Dorian quick that you’re on your way, and get a move on.**

 

You hustle, and luckily end up being only about ten minutes late to meet Dorian.  He already has his food, and a table at the edge of the chaos, so you find the shortest line at somewhere that looks edible and get yourself something, too.  Part of you regrets that you didn’t bring one of your packed lunches, but maybe that’s a little bit weird?  

You get through the line quickly, a couple bucks poorer, and finally settle yourself down at the table across from him.  Not a cheap day but it’s not like you’re spending like this every day.  You’ve been careful, and you didn’t really do a lot over the weekend that required money.  Heck, even the date you went on was free!

“The people watching is abysmal today.”  Dorian claims as you settle down, reaching for his drink, “Too crowded, everyone’s unpleasant before the holiday.”

“I don’t get the same kind of holiday shoppers across the street.”  You say, feeling very relieved by that, “Maybe a couple more jerks than usual.”

“What, no rush to buy Satinalia sex paraphernalia?”  Dorian asks you with mock shock, and then smiles sardonically when you laugh around a bite, “Shocking.  Why were you late?  Those protesters weren’t bothering you, were they?”

* * *

 

**I was buying flowers.  Someone sent me some this morning.**

“Really?”  Dorian asks with obvious intrigue, leaning forward a little.

Well, you did already bring it up.  Quickly while you both eat, you tell him about it.  To his credit, he only smirks once or twice while you speak, keeping his comments to himself until you finish.

“I knew I was right about you.”  He says, giving a small, amused laugh, “That is absolutely perfect.  Ridiculous, it’s even better than I could have anticipated.”

“It’s only a little nerdy…”  You protest, and then sigh and admit when he raises an eyebrow at you, “It…okay, yes, it is.  You’re right.  But it’s also really romantic, right?”

“Oh, undoubtedly. Terribly quirky and romantic.  I’m practically writing the screenplay as we speak.”  Dorian replies, and then laughs when you scowl playfully at him, “How do you feel about being played by a twee wide-eyed ingenue?”

“No thank you.”  You say tartly.

“A bit too on the nose?”  He asks, and then laughs again as you threateningly crumple your napkin.

“You’re just jealous.”  You accuse, and then grin as he looks offended, “You know you are.”

“I’ve always wanted to be seduced with semaphore.”  He says with a theatrical sigh.

* * *

 

**I’d ship it.**

 

“That was _terrible_.  Never speak to me again.”  Dorian says to you flatly, but you can see the edge of a smile he’s hiding.

“Oh come on.”  You reply, grinning when he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, leaning away from you.  “Oh come on…that was funny!”

“My ears have been violated.”  Dorian retorts, and then narrows his eyes slightly, “Damn, is that the time already?”

You follow his gaze across the busy, noisy food court to a clock over the entry into the mall, and grimace.  Grabbing your last bit of food, you chow it down quickly.  Your drink can come back with you to work.

“Break’s always too short.”  You mutter, swallowing and continuing, “My fault for being late.”

“You had a good reason.”  Dorian says, waving his hand dismissively.  “I don’t think I would have been able to resist, either.”

“So you’re just calling me a nerd to deflect, huh?”  You ask, and grin when he scoffs at you.

You both gather up your trash and head for the nearest bin, but pause next to it.  There’s an exit behind you, it’s probably faster to go through the parking a lot a little further, rather than trying to head through the mall.

“Are you working tomorrow?” He asks you curiously.

* * *

 

**Somebody’s got to sell dildos, or the people may riot.**

 

“That is not a riot I would ever be interested in seeing, that’s for certain.”  Dorian says with a hint of amused disgust, and then waves a hand dismissively.  “I’ll text you.  Enjoy your Orlesian period-drama courtship.”

“I’ll see you later!”  You call at his retreating back.

He quickly disappears into the crowd, and remembering your earlier plan to go see if there’s any flyers or anything at the protest, you head back out to the parking lot.  

Instantly your nose is hit with the smell of snow, sharp and freezing in your nostrils.  You pull your jacket a little tighter, and pick up the pace across the lot, burrowing your chin down.  No actual snow yet, but the sky is heavily overcast, and with the sun going down in an hour and a bit, you wouldn’t be shocked if it’s snowing by the time you’re out of work.

The protesters are still there, and maybe even a bit more of them now.  The police have put out a line, and they’re not toeing it.  Things are still calm for the most part, but when a girl obviously on her way to work at Valmont scurries into the store, there’s a bit of shouting after her.

You make a quick, curious inquiry at the very edge of the crowd, but it doesn’t look like there’s any information to be had on hand.  No flyers, nothing to tell you any more than the signs and shouting do.  A woman does grab your hand and scrawls a web address across the back of it.  

Maybe that’ll give you a bit more information.

 

You hustle back to work after that.  Even having warned Miss Kitty, you don’t want to be late.  After being in the holiday shopping crowd, you’re grateful now more than ever to have the place.  Occasional perverts and all.

Settling in and getting back to work, the rest of your shift passes uneventfully.  

_Too_ uneventfully.

Nobody texting you about some flowers you may have sent uneventfully.

 

You regretfully go to clock out when Tor gets in, taking your sweet time about it.

* * *

 

**Let’s go to the mall.  To um…shop.  Browse.  You know.**

 

After tucking your flowers securely in your car, you head back to the mall again, feeling brave.  The lot’s full, so you’re glad you didn’t bother driving, and as predicted, the snow’s starting to come down.  Big, light flakes, and they melt when they hit the ground, but it’s really pretty.  All the lights are bright, the theater’s marquee especially, in brilliant green and blue.

Valmont’s the easiest entrance, so you head for it again, skipping the crowd going into the store and ducking around to the side.  The chaos inside the store is worse now, but there seem to be more employees actually manning the kiosks.  Maybe they brought in people from other stores.

The cafe’s closed, when you pass by it, but the gallery is open, a few people wandering through it.  Vivienne’s nowhere in sight, but maybe that’s for the best.  She was helpful, but you were there under false pretenses.  Probably not the best way to strike up a friendship.

Reaching the main thoroughfare, you turn at the roaring fountain, heading on down.  You could fib to yourself, but there’s no way you’re not going to Antediluvia.  

There’s a couple customers, you notice as you approach, peeking in through the window for a moment.  You can’t really see Cole or Solas, and are forced to duck into the shop.  Wandering in, letting your eyes adjust to the dimmer light inside the store, you blink and glance around.  People browsing, but no, no sign of…

“Oh!  Hello!”  You hear just to your left and startle, turning to face Cole.

He just popped out of nowhere!

“You scared me!”  You accuse, slapping a hand over your heart, and then laugh, “Hello.”

“You’re here!”  He says, obviously quite happy.  “We were wondering.”

“I…am.”  You agree, fishing out your phone when it beeps at you.  It’s from Merrill.  “Sorry, just a sec, Cole.”

“I have to go help someone.”  He tells you reassuringly, and heads for the counter.

You open the text message from Merrill.  It just says ‘I’m sorry.’.  Before you can reply, you get about six more in succession.

 

Well, _that’s_ reassuring.

* * *

 

**Text her back.  What the heck is going on?**

 

  
  


 

Okay, whew.  You thought it was something a lot worse.  At least that relieves your mind about a lack of texts.  Though he hasn’t texted you now, so…

You glance up, noticing Cole’s nearly done with his transaction, and wander towards the counter.  He meets your stare curiously, giving you another smile.

“What was that about wondering where I was?”  You ask him, curiously.

“Wondering…mind wandering…”  He murmurs under his breath, and then brightens again, “Oh yes!  Merrill said you worked in the morning, but what morning and how long I didn’t know.  I said I would ask, but Solas said he would see, and not text.  Does he text you?”

“A little?”  You say.

“He’s never texted me.”  Cole says, sounding vaguely shocked.

“So what you’re saying is he could have texted me, but he popped across the road instead to see if I’d gone home, while I was coming over here to see him.”  You conclude, ignoring the fact that _you_ could have texted _him_ yourself.  “That’s…”

“At the moment, I believe I am leaning towards ‘absurd’.”  A voice supplies from behind you.

_Ah.  There he is._

* * *

 

**I was going to go with ‘sweet’, myself.**

 

  
As you speak, you turn to face him, the slight red flush of his cheeks standing out sharply.  Cold, not embarrassment, but it does look like he didn’t bother with a coat.  It’s tempting to reach up and warm them up, but you keep your hands to yourself.

“Your interpretation is a bit more flattering.”  He says, but smiles, inclining his head to you, “But it seems you are determined to flatter me today, deserved or no.”

“I think I get to decide that, not you.”  You reply, playfully, “I already told you the apologies weren’t necessary.”

He pauses for a second, glancing to his left and then stepping aside of the counter, gesturing lightly towards you.  You turn your head and give Cole a quick smile before following him.

“This isn’t a terribly good place to talk.”  Solas tells you apologetically as you join him near the bookshelves, “I must at least pretend to run a business.”

“I was happy to see people were here.”  You admit, and then tilt your head as he chuckles faintly, “A weird thing to say?”

“No.  I appreciate the enthusiasm.”  He reassures you, still smiling faintly, “I suppose it is a good thing, I just prefer it to be quieter.”

“Solas, that’s no way to run a business.”  You tell him in a mock-serious voice, and he laughs again.

He seems like he’s in a really good mood for once.  That’s a nice change of pace and pretty damn welcome, especially if you assume it’s because of you.

“Would it be over-eager if I asked when you might be available for the second first, or the first second date, as you put it?”  He asks you.

* * *

 

**Would it be over-eager if I said tonight?**

 

“I believe the two negate one another.”  Solas says, turning his attention towards the front of the shop, past your shoulder, “It would have to be later, rather than sooner, I cannot leave Cole in the shop alone with this sort of traffic.”

“I figured as much.”  You reassure him, “Mornings at my work aren’t exactly early mornings.”

“I believe I discovered that today, yes.”  He says, shaking his head when you laugh, “Imagine, that communicating so inefficiently might have some drawbacks.  Shocking.”

“They’re beautiful, by the way.  The flowers.”  You say, with a small smile, “And I loved it, inefficiency and all.  Obviously.”

“Consider the sentiment returned.  I can’t say I’ve ever been given flowers before.”  

“Happy to be your first.”  You say, hiding a grin.

He fixes you with a slightly sardonic look, which you keep a straight face through until he finally lifts his eyebrows.  Giving in, you laugh, and he eventually chuckles and shakes his head.

“Are you amenable to a fairly late dinner?  If not, there is generally something to be seen in the city, no matter the hour.”  He asks, rather than rising to your bait.

That’s fair, he probably has to go back to work.  He did ditch the shop to try and find you, after all.

“Dinner would be fine.  I eat lunch pretty late, and I can always nibble a bit beforehand.”  You agree, giving another nod of your head.

“Perfect.  I should have everything locked up at about ten.”  He says, taking a half step back.

* * *

 

**I’ll get out of your way.  See you later, I’ll pop by around ten.**

You say a quick goodbye to Cole and then head out, into the massive holiday shopping crowd.  It’s not a pretty sight tonight, as everyone’s rushing to finish up.  It seems like presents are a big deal here in the city- you wonder how much of that is tradition, and how much of it is pressure from the people who make money off of it.

Once you’re in the thick of the chaos, you just let yourself be tugged along, barely hearing the holiday music, deafened by chatter and arguing.  It’s hard not to get lost, adrift in it, without somewhere in mind to go.  

You make it back to the fountain, finding a clear spot for a second to take stock.  It’s only seven, you have about three hours to figure out what to do with.  The kittens have crunchies, they’re not going to be starving to death (even if they don’t get their wet food until late), you don’t have anything you need to be doing tonight.

Theirin’s, the other nearby department store isn’t as upmarket as Valmont, but it’s nearby and not nearly as trashed.  You don’t exactly have plans apart from the Hawke family get together, but you could go look at the holiday clothes, or poke around at the sales.  You could go bother one of your friends at work- but you have a feeling right now that’s not a great idea.  They’re probably all really busy.

You could go to the craft store near your house to think about masks, or go to that thrift store Fenris mentioned.  Did you want to pick up some things for the clothing drive?  You did do your part, but you can still do more.

You’ll still have time to go home, probably, you do have a while, but if you go somewhere else first, there might not be enough to do everything you might want to.

* * *

 

**We have been meaning to go to the craft store.  Now’s a good time.**

 

Escaping from the holiday mall nightmare, you head out into the parking lot again, and from there, across the road.  Extra careful, because you really don’t trust this traffic.  Taking note of it, you wonder if you might need to leave a little early tomorrow to make sure you get to work on time.  And definitely Thursday and Friday afternoon- you can’t even imagine how bad it’s going to be.

The craft store is close to your house, just down the road a ways…and is also extremely busy.  You’re not sure what you expected.

Even though a lot of people buy their masks, making them is a tradition, too, and lots of people make decorations and things.  At least there’s parking, though it takes you a couple times through the very small lot before you find it.

You’ve done some mask browsing, done some thinking, looked at what’s popular.  You’re about as prepared for this as you’re going to be.  You take a deep breath, and head in through the front doors.

 

Your senses are assaulted.

 

Glitter and fabric dust hang in the air, with the scent of eucalyptus, laqueur, and wicker.  There’s lights strung up on the holiday aisles, silver and gold, shining off of beaten metal candlesticks and wind chimes, beaded garlands and holiday tableware.  Then, of course, there’s masks.  Rows and rows and racks of them, from full-face to domino.  Orlesian style, the currently popular filigree, Antivan masks, Nevarran…

You assume the finished ones are for people who come into the craft store, get overwhelmed and promptly tap out.  You can understand why they might. 

All you can see is the finished ones, but considering how much of their money must come from the holiday, you assume they have the things to make them, as well.

You just have to figure out how much work you want to do.

* * *

 

**We don’t need to get overzealous.  Let’s go look at the undecorated masks.  We don’t need to reinvent the wheel here.**

 

Focusing, blocking out as much of the distracting chaos as you can, you start wending your way towards the back of the store.  You pass by the rows of glassware, the silk flowers, the baking things before you find the mask next to the jewelry supplies.  Luckily (or maybe unluckily), you’re not going to be relegated to only the domino or the full-face.  There’s lots of different styles and designs.

They even have animal ones with little beaks and noses and ears and things.

Most of them are plain white plastic, but there’s also some fabric and plaster ones.  The heavier ceramic ones look like they’re meant for wall decoration than anything else.  Eventually you select one, checking a few in the mirror screwed to a shelf before you settle.

Now you’re left with the hard part.  The next aisle over has kits divided by color or theme, with small swatches of fabric, beads and rhinestones, feathers and flowers and…you know, all of the things you might need to put together a mask.  You pick up one curiously and look it over.  It seems to have everything you might need to make a peacock mask.

Those are handy!  If…a little pricier than picking things out yourself.

* * *

  
**No way.  We can look at them for ideas, but how is that any different than buying a pre-made mask?**

 

Your quest for the perfect fabric, sparkly bits, trimmings and trappings and ribbons and bobs takes a considerable amount of time.  You spend some time hunting on your phone, look at the pre-made things, even flip through a few instruction books.  

It’s your first real big Satinalia to-do, after all, and you want to do it right.

By the time you figure it all out, and have all the possible things you might need, the store is getting ready to close.  You hop to the register and make your purchase- it should probably be your last big purchase of the week.  Craft stores are not cheap.  Between eating lunch out, buying flowers, this trip, and going out tonight?  Well, at least you have food made for the week.

Next week is the holiday, too!  You should definitely be careful, so you can have some fun money for it.

Luckily the registers aren’t too clogged, and the ride home is short.  When you make it back to the apartment, flowers tucked securely into the crook of your arm, the your phone is reading about eight thirty.

Fen meets you at the door, but you’re expecting it, and use your foot to catch the kitten and nudge him back inside as you scoot in.

He is offended, and tells you so, loudly.

“Nice try.”  You reply, and then head to the kitchen to feed them.

* * *

 

**After that, shower and get changed.  Your stomach can wait an hour and a half, can’t it?**

 

Once the cats are covering their whiskers in goopy gravy and unidentifiable meat bits, you pop into the shower.  Nice to feel refreshed after a day of work and some shopping, though you have a sneaking suspicion that some glitter from the craft store will be hanging around.

After you dry your hair and pick out something to wear, keeping in mind that you have no idea where you’re going (and considering the first date, you can’t even really guess), you go nice but sensible.  

The kittens are cleaned up, and then you realize your shirt has gotten covered in cat hair, so you quickly change it again.  Whoops.  Probably one of those things you’re going to have to get used to as a new pet owner.

By the time you’ve managed the first round of getting ready, it’s basically time to go.  No chance for second guesses.  You grab your purse, say goodbye to the terrible twosome, and head back for the mall.

 

It’s snowing again, but unlike the previous two flurries, it seems to be sticking.  The slush has turned to ice, and the air is frigid, freezing your nostrils and chilling the tip of your nose.  You’re extra careful on the drive there, but luckily the roads aren’t bad.  At least not yet.

You’re grateful all over again that you sprung for the new tires when you got your car fixed.

The mall parking lot is not entirely empty when you arrive, but people are heading out, not in.  You slip in only a scant minute before the main entrances are locked, and hustle against the ebbing tide to make it to Solas’ shop.  At the intersection by the fountain, the last of the retreating shoppers pass by you, and you’re left alone.

The main thoroughfare is empty, and most shops are closing their metal gates.  It’s a bit jarring, almost spooky.

“I’m sorry, miss, but the mall is closing.”  A familiar voice says from behind you, “You’ll have to do your shopping to…”

Turning around, you face Cullen, offering him a quick smile.  He blinks in surprise, and then chuckles and reaches up to rub the back of his head.

“I’m just running to meet Solas.  Promise.”  You assure him.

“I’m supposed to be clearing people out.  You can’t meet him in the parking lot?”  Cullen asks you with a sigh.

He looks tired.  And stressed.  Mall security around the holidays must be hell.

* * *

 

**You okay?  You seem a little rough.**

Cullen actually seems surprised for a moment, before finally managing a faint smile shaking his head slowly.

“It’s  kind of you to ask.  A good sleep should take care of it.  A week or so, ideally.”  He jokes, and then sighs again and waves a hand at you, “All right, all right.  Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t.”  You promise, giving him one last smile before turning to continue on your way.  “Have a good night!”

“And you as well.  Tell Solas I say hello.”  Cullen replies.

You can hear him faintly muttering something under his breath as you retreat, but can’t quite make it out.  Probably for the best.  Poor guy.  You hope he actually manages to survive the next week or so.

Approaching Antediluvia, you’re grateful to see the security gate is still up.  You peek around the edge of the doorway, grinning as you catch sight of Solas.  Well, now you know why there’s an armchair behind the counter.  He’s sitting in it, reading, one elbow propped up on the arm.  

“This is the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever seen.”  You tell him scoldingly, still peeking around the doorframe.

Deliberately, he doesn’t look up, but adjusts his glasses and then turns a page of his book.  He manages to keep a straight face until you laugh, and then you see the faintest hint of a smile.

“Then I suppose I am fortunate no one can fire me.”  He says, closing the book with one hand and an emphatic thump.

“Cullen says hello.  He tried to kick me out of the mall.”  You straighten up and enter the shop proper.  “Luckily I’m charming.”

“I’m certain that’s skill, not luck.”  He says, and before you have a chance to reply, continues, “Do you have any driving preferences?  If you are more comfortable taking separate cars, we can certainly do so again.”

You take a second to think that over, as he puts the book back on its shelf and then goes back to the counter to get his coat.

* * *

 

**I have no idea where we’re going, it’s probably just easiest if you drive.**

“You’re likely correct.”  Solas agrees, slinging his scarf around his neck, and then buttoning up his coat as he moves for the front of the store.  “How are the roads this evening?”

“Okay?  But the sidewalks are ice.”  You say, musing it over, “If we’re going somewhere with less traffic, I’d be careful.”

“Are you looking to find out where we’re going?”  He asks.

You duck out of the shop with him, a little puzzled.  You consider it while he pulls down the gate, and then fishes out the giant ring of keys to lock it.  How he finds a single key in that mess, you don’t actually know.  

“Oh!  If we’re going…”  You finally say, and then laugh, “I wasn’t, but, well…”

“I’m certainly fine with ruining the surprise if you would prefer that I do.”  Solas tells you, tucking the keys back into his pocket.  “I’m actually not quite certain yet if you enjoy them or not.”

* * *

 

**I’d hate to ruin your mysterious persona.  You’ve obviously worked hard on it.**

 

“It does seem to be working for me, wouldn’t you agree?”  He says in response, so bland that you have to check to make sure he’s not offended.

You can see it, just the hint of a smile on his lips that grows when you scoff noisily.  Impulsively, you tuck your hand into his arm as you both turn the corner, heading towards the exit.  He doesn’t resist, but adjusts his stride to make it a little less awkward.

“You’re doing _okay_.”  You tell him.

This time he laughs.

 

Thankfully, and unsurprisingly, his car is basically spotless.  You’ve definitely been in worse.  Also, somewhat amusingly, it’s about as old as a car can get without edging into collectible.  This is definitely not a classic, more like something a sixteen year old would get for their first car.  But, you know, clean, and well maintained, and actually in good shape.

You’re pleased to see the flowers you sent him are carefully tucked on the floor of the back seat, between two boxes of books.  Nice and secure.

He’s a good driver, if maybe a bit less cautious than you’d anticipate with the weather.  Not enough to make you white-knuckle the door or anything.  Your curiosity is growing, but you manage to contain it as you head away from downtown altogether, towards a part of town you’re wholly unfamiliar with.  

“Where are we?”  You finally ask, unable to handle it any longer as you pass by what looks like a warehouse complex, behind massive fences.

“Ah, of course.  You still don’t know the city that well, do you?”

“Not much opportunity for exploration.”  You say, watching as warehouses give way to more ordinary commercial buildings, “Soon I’m going to have school on top of work.  Still, we’re working on getting to know each other, me and the city.”

“Well, I’m happy to introduce you to a new part of it.”  Solas says, gesturing with his chin to the left, “I used to live in the area.  Just in that direction.  Some old friends of mine still reside here.”

“And own businesses here?”  You hazard, and he smiles, “Ah.  Well, that explains why they’re open so late.”  

“They are always open this late.  It looks a bit run down to a casual observance, but beyond it in the other direction is the theater district.”  He explains, pulling over to the side of the road, neatly parking between two fairly close-together cars.  “Late nights are expected.”

* * *

 

**How long did you live here?**

“A good few years.” Solas says with a thoughtful air, stepping up onto the curb and offering you his arm.

You take it and follow, and don’t release it afterwards.  He didn’t seem to mind before, and he doesn’t mind now.  Snowflakes are still falling, swirling in the street lights as you navigate the slippery, cracked sidewalk.

“I like my neighborhood, but it’s not long on personality.”  You admit, gazing into the windows of what looks like a wine bar as you head up to the corner, “Everything’s very…square.  Square and brick.”

“Personality often comes with a hefty price tag, these days.”  He agrees, as you both pick up the pace, crossing the street.  “I have heard the prices here are steadily creeping up.”

“That’s a shame.”  You say sympathetically, glancing across the road at a row of tightly-packed red brick houses, “This seems like a nice place to live.”

“A good neighborhood makes up for cracks in the ceiling and leaks in the pipes when you are young.”  He agrees, and then gives a small shake of his head, “Sometimes it’s better to let go, however, than to force a place to grow with us.”

“Is that why you moved away?”  You ask, letting him nudge you to turn a corner, your attention pulled to a sign hanging within sight of the street, “You grew away from it?”

“Better I do so than try to force it to conform to me.”  He says simply.

The sign looks to be wood burned, lit by a twist of fairy lights around the fence that surrounds the lot.  It hangs from a curving wrought iron post, leaning over an open gate.  The sidewalk splits off to a poured concrete path, crossing a very small lawn of paving stones worn by time and cracked by stubborn plant life.

The building beyond looks like it was converted from a house into a place of business, warm light spilling from its front windows, a couple small round tables on its covered porch.  Even from here, you can hear the faint sounds of conversation and laughter.

The sign reads  _‘Suledin’_.

* * *

 

**Well, now I’m more intrigued than I was before.**

 

“I am pleased to hear it.”  Solas says, pushing the gate back for you, and then following.

You mean to say something, but once you both head up the stairs and he gets the door for you, you’re momentarily silenced.  The interior, for the chatter you hear from the street, is surprisingly small.  You might say cramped, but there’s actually only four tables on the first floor.  From the volume level, you have a feeling that up the staircase on the far left is more seating.

The tables are mismatched, but all bare wood, highly polished and as scarred and full of personality as the floors.  Visible behind a long counter separating it from the dining room, you can see directly into the kitchen.  By which you mean what looks like two people working in a fairly cramped space. 

The lighting is low, and warm, and the decor seems to be primarily books and prints of old documents.  Curiously you examine one in passing as he leads you towards the kitchen pass.  You can’t read it easily, the script is ancient.

“Where in Thedas have you brought me?”  You ask him jokingly, and then take the menu he hands you, pulled out of a small rack on the wall.

“Take a look.”  He invites you, and then finally releases your arm, pulling away.  Rather than look at it, you watch him as he leans down, resting an arm on the wall, calling into the kitchen.  “The service here is abominable.”

You hear a gasp, and then a laugh, and before you realize what’s happening, the kitchen door is thrown wide, and a woman with short, gray-streaked brown hair has surged out and thrown her arms around his neck, dragging him down.

“Solas!”  She exclaims, a little bit chidingly, “You can’t even call?”

“I am sorry.”  He says laughingly, not the least bit repentant, and then straightens up, disentangling himself.  “Sophia, there is someone I’d like you to meet.”

* * *

 

_Introduce yourself, it’s only polite._

You step forward and introduce yourself, finding your hand clasped in two warm ones, a searching gaze examining your face.  She has a particularly piercing pair of eyes, but she never stops smiling.

“Wonderful.  Wonderful to meet you, have you here tonight.”  Sophia decides, glancing from you to Solas, and then laughs.  She has a warm, flowing voice, something comforting about it.  “What an unexpected pleasure.  We’ll tuck a table in for you.”

You notice, as she releases your hand and turns back for the kitchen, that there’s hints of faded tattoos at both wrist and neck, mostly hidden by her chef’s jacket.  Funny, more than curious, she looks like she could be anyone’s older aunt, but it seems like she has more of a colorful past than you were expecting.

A lot like…hmm.

“You two used to get up to trouble?”  You tease, finally glancing down at the menu.

“I have absolutely no idea where you might have gotten that impression.”  Solas replies, so flatly that you know he’s hiding a smile.

You might have something to say, but your attention is captivated by the small menu.  It’s…weird.  At first you’re not sure what it’s all about.  The offerings are strange, and don’t hold to any cuisine or theme, until you notice one unifying theme.

They’re all, for lack of a better word, old.  Basic ingredients, a lack of pretense and fancy preparations.  No mention of foams or drizzles or anything you might expect from a place like this.

“I’m a little confused.”  You admit.  “What sort of food is this?”

“Variations of the oldest recipes we could find.”  Solas replies, a light touch at your elbow drawing your gaze up, as he moves to one of the documents on the wall, “Sophia and I both share a love for old books, her taste just leans to the…practical.”

You take a second to give the page on the wall a closer look, behind its protective glass.  It’s old Ferelden, archaic spelling and illuminations making it difficult to read.

* * *

 

**That’s…fascinating, actually.  You found all of these, in books?  Are the books they have here some of them?  Can I _see_ them?**

Maybe you’re a little bit overenthusiastic, but Solas just seems pleasantly amused by it.  

“Considering some of the books are over a thousand years old…no, not exactly.”  He tells you, “Copies, yes, but seeing the originals in person would be…”

“Amazing.”  You say with a faint sigh.

“Difficult.”  He finishes, not able to hide his laughter any more, “She still collects older recipe books, but the ones on the shelves are not irreplaceable.  The ones the actual recipes being used have been gleaned from are.”

“What did she study, then?  Did she go to culinary school, or did she study history, or…”  You muse, letting him lead you over to one of the shelves.

Solas seems to not have any problems just reaching up and taking a book off the shelf.  You suppose they do seem like close friends, you doubt she’d mind.  Despite his claims about them not being irreplaceable, you still take it with extreme care as he hands the leather-bound book to you.  It still looks old, but is definitely printed, not hand-written.

“No, academia has never been a part of her learning process, to my knowledge.  She simply…learns things she wishes to learn.”  Solas replies thoughtfully, “The structure that some people require to educate themselves can be stifling for others.”

“I think I’m grateful there’s no Orlesian court food on the menu.”  You murmur, distracted by the book you’re leafing through, “Those poor little birds.”

“I…ah, yes.”  Solas says, a bit apologetically as you close the book and hand it back, “An interesting culinary tradition, but not always pleasant.”

“Honestly, even despite that I’d probably sit there and read it through dinner, which is why you just need to take it away from me.”  You tell him, lifting your hands and taking a step back from the bookcase, “You’re tempting me to be horribly rude.”

“And yet even with your distraction, I have a feeling the conversation would _still_ be more pleasant than most.”  He replies smoothly.

* * *

 

**Shameless flatterer.**

“I only speak the truth.”  Solas says, gently nudging your elbow with a hand as he steps around you,  “It is sincerity, not flattery.”

“Well, I’m sincerely flattered.”  You reply playfully.

You follow his light direction, turning to watch as a young man unceremoniously sets a table against a wall, dropping it from over his head.  Letting go of your elbow, Solas goes to get one of the chairs being pulled in from outside, leaving you to wait near the table.  You try to stay out of the way, as they return with the seats and tuck them in.  You offer a quiet thanks to the young man, who just flashes you a grin and goes clomping for the kitchen.

“Family?”  You ask, noting his resemblance to the woman you saw earlier.

“Nephew, I believe.  I haven’t seen him in quite some years.”  Solas says, getting your chair for you and then settling down himself.  “School holidays, more than likely.”

So many smaller places like this end up being awfully pretentious.  The relaxed atmosphere here is nice.”  You say, picking up the menu off of the table, giving it another look over.  “When you lived here, had she already opened up the restaurant?”

“Ah…no.  Back then we could scarcely afford hot water, let alone a business.”  Solas replies, amusedly dry, “Not to say those are unhappy memories, but perhaps less…comfortable.”

* * *

 

**Nostalgia takes the edges off of memories, doesn’t it?**

 

“More than it should, at times.”  Solas agrees with you, “But more often than not, it is welcome.”

You share a smile with him, and then turn your attention to the menu.  It’s hard to decide, everything’s so different and intriguing.  While you waffle over it in your mind, you listen to the quiet hum of people chattering, the ambient noise low enough that you can catch the occasional snatch of conversation.

It’s a comfortable silence at the table, which is nice.  Also nice to not be so nervous you fill it with chatter.  He has a way of setting you at ease, at least when he isn’t interrogating you.

“I wonder if I could ask you a question?”  He asks rather suddenly, drawing your attention back up to his face again.

He looks pensive, but not upset, just withdrawn.

“Sure, of course.”  You agree, setting the menu aside.  

“I was somewhat curious what came of the favor you asked of me.”  Solas admits, setting his own menu aside, on top of yours.

It takes you a second to remember what he’s talking about.  Right.  The other day you asked him to contact Felassan for you…well, for Sera.  And then the pictures showed up at your house.

With the scary note.

* * *

 

_Stick with the facts, just tell him exactly what happened._

You tell your story, concisely, pausing briefly to order and make some pleasant small talk with Sophia when she comes out to check on you.  She doesn’t stick around too long, though, just brings you some water, gives Solas a small squeeze on the shoulder, and then scoops up the menus and retreats to the kitchen again.

It’s kind of odd to see him so casual with someone.  You’re used to him- for all of his friendliness with you- being a little bit distant.  A lot of it’s body language, though you’re starting to notice if you take the first step, he tends to reciprocate.  Like the arm-holding earlier.

Or, you know, the kiss.

When you finish telling the story as matter-of-factly as you can, Solas’ expression is hard to read.  He leans back in his seat a little, searching your face until you tilt your head questioningly.

“An unexpected outcome.”  He finally says, and then gives a faint ‘hmm’ under his breath, “Unsettling, I would assume.”

“A bit.”  You agree, and then give a small sigh, “There’s good, and there’s bad, I suppose.  Better to focus on the good, but…”

“It would be foolish not to feel somewhat unsafe.”  He says mildly.

For a second you’re almost insulted, until you remember that he’s probably just poking you again.  When you meet his eyes and narrow yours slightly, he gives you a slow, fairly humorless smile.

“And who, exactly, would have expected that of all things would happen?”  You retort, and then laugh faintly when he fluidly rolls his shoulders in a wordless shrug.  “I would think that you would have enough sense to let me know if contacting him might be unsafe for me, _before_ agreeing to do it.”

“An excellent point.”  Solas says, smile a bit less flat, “You are correct.  I would apologize, but as you said, it was unanticipated.”

“You know him better than I do.”  You point out, and then search his expression, “So I guess you’d have to tell me if I should be feeling unsafe or not.”

“I believe caution is advised…”  Solas temporizes, before finally concluding, “But no, I do not believe you are.  I admit, I am surprised you are so composed about it.”

* * *

 

**You might find it strange, but I honestly feel like I’ve helped do something good for people.  Added to the history.**

Somewhat to your surprise, Solas gives a faint, sarcastic laugh at your words, almost a scoff, glancing aside with a lift of his chin.  Usually he’s so polite, the little slip seems a bit out of character.  When you tilt your head, he shakes his and reaches for his water, eyes still avoiding yours.

“It simply seems a bit naive, don’t you think?”  He asks you, “Is there actually anything of value to be found in a bit of vandalism?”

“Really.  You, of all people?”  You ask him, leaning forward a little as he shifts back in his seat, “There’s the same value as there is in anything we keep from being forgotten.”

“Some bits of old broken wall and a pile of photographs.  Is it really so important?  If it were such an important movement, something would have changed, don’t you agree?  All I can see is failure.”  He replies dismissively. 

Some people might be offended, but none of it’s aimed at you, not really.  Besides, he doesn’t sound angry.  You might think he’s being a bit stuffy and combative, but at least he’s not being condescending.

Yet.

“It _has_ value.”  You contradict, “Both cultural and historical.”

“Why?  Because people say so?”  He asks you, resting his elbow atop the opposite hand, finally meeting your stare.  “Despite adding nothing, succeeding at nothing, it has value simply because people have romanticized a self-important vandal into being some…some hero of civil disobedience?”

* * *

 

**Yes, that’s exactly why.**

 

“It matters to other people.  It changed things, it _has_ changed things.  Just because maybe it didn’t do what it meant to, doesn’t make it worthless.”  You argue, keeping your voice firm, “People care.  It inspires them.  If you’re looking for some legacy, there is where you’ll find it.  Change is hard, and there’s no such thing as a perfect hero, we both know enough about history to know that.  I would think that you would understand that people still need them to _try_ and find the strength to fight for change themselves.”

You realize, once you finish and take a deep breath, reaching for your water to regain your composure, that the stare fixed on you isn’t quite so hard.  Still, Solas is silent for a few seconds as you sip at your water.

“You are right.”  He finally says, admitting it with a soft smile, “I stand corrected.”

“We need ideas of people over harsh truth, sometimes.  And ideals.  It gives people something to strive towards.”  You say, and then accuse with a point of your finger across the table, “You’re a cynic, aren’t you?”

“You would not be the first person to accuse me of such.”  He admits, smile widening, “Are you going to try and cure me of it with your hopeful optimism?”

You have a second to think of a response as your food comes, along with a bottle of wine you’re pretty sure neither of you ordered.  Solas doesn’t seem surprised though, checking the label critically until Sophia cuffs him on the shoulder.

“I know my wine.”  She says, pretending to be irritated with him, and then lets herself be called off to another table, leaving you alone again.

* * *

 

**I like you the way you are.  It makes for good arguments.**

 

He looks surprised for a second, and then shakes his head and smiles, letting out a faint chuckle under his breath.

“Thank you.  I would have said discussion myself, however.  Argument is perhaps a bit more antagonistic than I would prefer.”  Solas replies at last, tilting the bottle towards you, and then picking up your glass when you nod.

“Then maybe you should try sounding less confrontational.”  You say, with a s mile.

The sardonic look he gives you makes you laugh, and you extend your hand and accept the glass of wine from him as he offers it over.

“A fair accusation.”  He finally admits, pouring himself a glass as well, “You have never taken offense or become defensive, I should try to do the same.”

“I think if I liked poking in people’s heads as much as you do, I’d be used to people getting prickly about it.”

“Hmh.”  Solas agrees simply.

You pause to try the wine, which is, as far as you can tell, quite nice.  It goes well with your food, at least, when you take a moment to eat some of it.  The food is pretty amazing, and conversation grows a bit more casual as you both turn your attention to it.

You didn’t realize before, but you were _starving_.  Which means you should probably be careful about the wine.  Every sip gets at least a few bites of food to cushion it.

 

He’s as interesting to talk to when he’s not trying to turn your brain inside-out, which is nice, and he doesn’t mind when you ask too many questions.  You’re beginning to realize he’s actually really pleasant, and very interesting company.  Which is a good thing to find out, on a second date.  

As you finish eating dinner, the talk turns, unsurprisingly, to the holiday.  Inescapable this time of year.

“It’s just odd to be so surrounded by it, I suppose.”  You conclude, lifting your shoulders in a shrug, “It feels like I’m just sort of get swept up in other people’s plans.”

“It sounds as if it is well intentioned.” Solas says, “If perhaps a bit aggressively enthusiastic.”

* * *

 

**What about you?  Any plans?**

“Not particularly, no.  I enjoy the people watching, a great deal, but have no special attachment to the holiday itself.”  He says, “The public celebrations can be a bit chaotic.”

“I think I underestimated how much people put into it.”  You agree, “I went to the craft store tonight, to get the things for my mask, and it was nearly closed and you _still_ could barely move for people.”

“I do not envy you that.  You are crafting your own, then?”

He offers you the bottle of wine after pouring himself another half glass, and you take stock of your own head before accepting.  You feel fine.  Even though you don’t drink that often, the food’s keeping the alcohol at bay nicely.  It’s just wine, after all.

“Mmh.  The Hawkes invited me to a family party this weekend, they make their own every year.”  You explain, giving a nod of thanks as he tips some of the wine into your extended glass. 

“You’ll have to give my best to Malcolm.  It’s been some time since I…”  He stops at the look you’re giving him, “What?”

“Does everyone know _everyone_ here?”  You ask exasperatedly, and he laughs.

“It can seem that way.”  He agrees, voice still warm with his laughter, but sobering as he briefly checks his watch, “Please do let me know if we’re running later than you would like, I know that you work.”

“Don’t you too?”  You point out.

“If you think that chair behind the counter is only for reading in, you would be quite mistaken.”  Solas replies with a wry smile.

* * *

 

**You’re gonna make me jealous.  I want a comfy chair behind my counter.  Maybe I should steal it.**

 

“You’re more than welcome to try.”  Solas invites, gesturing with one hand, “I believe I would enjoy watching you try to carry it out of my store.”

“I could do it!”  You protest, and then add with a smile, “But I just wouldn’t want to deprive you of it.  That would be cruel.”

“Normally I am quite willing to share, but the location makes it difficult.”  He says, and then pauses, and glances towards the kitchen, “I should go see when Sophia is closing tonight.  Could you give me a moment?”

“Of course.”  You say, “Take all the time you need.”

He nods and rises, tossing his napkin on the table next to his plate.  You watch him head into the kitchen as casually as if he owned the place, and then turn your attention to the rest of the small restaurant.  

At some point, the place had mostly cleared out, though there’s a table left on this floor picking over their dessert, and you can hear some people chatting still upstairs.  It’s late, half past midnight when you check your phone, but you’re only a little sleepy.

After a late weekend, it’s not so bad.  You wonder if you’ll ever get together at a normal time, though.  Maybe next time?  If there is a next time.

If you were hoping for leftovers, your hungry stomach had other ideas.  While you wait, you finish up the last few bites, and then settle back again with your glass of wine.  

 

When Solas returns from the kitchen, his expression is pensive, almost worried.  He doesn’t seem to notice you staring at him until he returns to his chair, but when he finally glances down at you, his expression instantly clears.  You tilt your head, but he just shakes his.

“I apologize.  They may be closing before too long.”

He sits down again, but doesn’t seem relaxed, posture a bit stiff.  You’d ask, but he doesn’t seem like he’s interested in discussing it.

“Oh, well, who would expect a restaurant open this late at all?”  You reply, lifting your shoulders.  “It was a really nice surprise.”

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself.”  He says.

* * *

 

**I hope you did, too.**

 

“Very much, yes.”  Solas agrees, with a little more enthusiasm, some of the rigidity in his shoulders fading away, “You have been…a surprise.  I do not usually find myself in such personable company.” 

“You can be a little bit intimidating, you know.”  You tell him, with a smile.

“It is only on purpose some of them time.”  He tells you, and then chuckles along with your small laugh.  “People can be tiresome.”

“Well, I’m glad I managed to push through it.”  You say, and then shake your head with a smile, “It was well worth it.  And well worth the wait.”

“You’re too kind.”  He says, an oddly thoughtful smile on your face.  You watch him curious, but he stays silent for a few seconds.  It’s almost long enough that you’re thinking of saying something, but you don’t get more than a syllable out before he interrupts you, in a bit of a rush,  “As of late I have become rather withdrawn, but you have…I hope you will not think it too forward of me to ask if you might like to see me again.  As a…regular occurrence.  I realize there may be other…demands on your time…”

_Oh._

That’s a lot bigger of a question than you were expecting, actually.  If you’re reading him right, which you think you are.  You should be honest with him.  Flirting’s one thing, but he seems serious about this.  Maybe it’s more of an answer than he’s asking for right now, but better to get it out in the open.

You’re really hoping you’re not reading him wrong, or this might get embarrassing.

* * *

 

**I’m not seeing anyone else.  I don’t plan on it, either.  So demand away, what time I have I’d like to spend with you.**

 

“I…will keep that in mind.”  He says, sounding a bit surprised, “I was not quite expecting that much enthusiasm, but…”

“Oops.”  You say with a faint laugh, wincing just a little, “Did I misread you a bit?  I’m sorry.”

“No, no.  Perhaps you read me a bit better than I intended to be…”  He begins, and then stops and laughs, chagrined.  “I was attempting to _not_ be too forward.  And, apparently, I failed.  My impulses tend to get the better of me at times.”

“I’m usually for a bit of dancing around the point, but I thought I should be upfront.”  You say, and continue more teasingly, “Would you like to take it back?  I can pretend I didn’t hear it.”

“No.”  He laughs, and then abruptly sobers up, staring across the table at you.

You meet his eyes, something suddenly intense in them as he stares at you.  You’re pretty sure the little flutter in your stomach and the warmth in your cheeks isn’t just from the wine.

“No, I don’t believe I would.”  He says, thoughtful, resonant voice slow,  “Are you certain?  I realize I may have put you on the spot, so to speak.”

* * *

 

**Yes**

 

“I’m sure.”  You say, covering up the butterflies with some teasing, “Though if it’s going to be past two in the morning every night we go out, I’m probably not going to be able to keep up.”

“You were the one who insisted upon going out tonight.”  Solas points out with a smile, fully relaxed now.  “I am certain after the holiday things will…”

He trails off, and frowns.  When his attention returns to you, he gives a small shake of his head and smiles reassuringly.

“Just a great deal on my mind.  It is a hectic time of year.”  

“I just have to ask.  The question’s been bothering me forever…”  You start, and then start to rise when he gestures questioningly, “How exactly _do_ you keep that shop in business?”

“Most of my business is online.”  Solas replies, voice full of humor, “You could have asked before.  Were you worried I was laundering money for the Carta?”

“No!”  You protest, and then laugh yourself, “But now you’ve put the idea in my head…”

You pause after standing up to take a last sip of your wine, and then gather up your things.  Your head is fairly clear, if you wanted to, you could probably drive yourself home tonight.  By the time you make it back to your car, you should be absolutely fine.  Two glasses of wine over a couple hours aren’t enough to worry about.

“Sadly, the truth is far less exciting.”  He says, and then offers you his arm as you step around the table to join him.

“What about the…”  You ask, glancing over your shoulder as he leads you towards the door, hand tucking securely in the bend of his elbow.

“Already handled.”  He assures you, “Sophia isn’t able to come out, she is a bit busy, but she says goodbye.”

* * *

 

**Thank you.  I’ll get next time.**

 

“You are welcome.”  Solas says, getting the door for you, but not releasing your arm.  “And thank you, I would appreciate that.”

It’s even colder now, as you leave the warmth and brightness of the restaurant behind.  The sky is clear tonight, but you can only tell because for once, the city lights aren’t reflecting off of it.  

“Cole said that you had joined him this past Sunday?”  Solas asks abruptly, as you head down the stairs, “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did!  I’ve got to get better, though, they smoked me.”  You say, and then laugh, “I suppose they’ve got a lot of experience on me.”

“Hmmh.  Not much of a card player?”  Solas asks, a faint smile on his face when you look aside at him, “I will have to keep that in mind.”

“Right.  Never play with Solas.”  You say, nodding.

Then again, there’s some kinds of poker where losing isn’t exactly a _bad_ thing.  Provided you enjoy the company you’re in.  And don’t mind being sans clothing around them.

“I enjoy the mental exercise.  I have been told, however, others may not enjoy playing with me.”  He says, amusement in his voice.

You realize that you’re headed for the car…well, of course you are.  What else is there really worth doing at one in the morning?  And you did tease him about being out so late. _And_ you have to be up for work in…well, seven hours or so.  Less by the time you make it home.  Especially if you leave your car until tomorrow- you’ll have to take the bus.

Still…

* * *

 

**Would it be all right if I asked for a ride home?  It’s probably a shorter trip than going back to my car.**

“I will need directions, but I have no problem with that.  Provided you parked in the lot and not across the street.”  He says, glancing skyward briefly, “The roads are going to be rather treacherous tonight, it may be for the best.”

“Yes, I parked at the mall, not at work.  Is it going to snow after all?”  You ask, following his gaze as you fish out your phone, “It looked clear enough to me.”

“Everything that was melted earlier will be freezing.  I would not be surprised if at some point this week there is an actual storm, however.”  He says, glancing down as you turn on your phone.

“Getting directions, not being rude and looking at messages.”  You say, before he can comment, and then laugh at his ‘ah’, “You didn’t think I was going to bury my nose in my phone, were you?”

“I am pleased to find you don’t.”  He says, instead of answering you outright, finally releasing your arm as you reach the car.

It’s kind of a shame, but you can’t hang onto him while he drives.  Well, you could, but you’re trying not to get either of you killed.

“The forecast says Thursday there might be a couple feet.”  You say, slipping into the car and pulling on your seat belt, “I guess I’ll have to make sure I’m prepared.”

“The first actual snow of the year is always an interesting experience, when it has been some time since we have had any.”  Solas tells you as he slips into his seat, “Incredible to see how very short the public’s span of memory can be.”

* * *

 

**I’m looking forward to it, actually.  As much as I need to work, a day or two snowed in would be fun.**

“You may be overestimating it a bit.”  Solas says, amused, “I doubt it will close down much, especially this close to the holiday.”

“Oh.”  You say, not bothering to hide your disappointment, fiddling with your phone as you open the map, “Well, I guess that’s for the best.  Still.  I don’t even know what I’m doing with my holiday time off.  We’re only open for a half day next Thursday, and then closed until Monday.”

“That’s a bit more than usual.  Any particular reason?”  Solas asks, glancing down as you set your phone between the seats on the console.  “You know if you told me the address, I could find it.  I do know the city.”

“Welcome to the future.”  You reply, and then laugh as he sighs and picks up your phone, “What do you have against the GPS lady, Solas?”

“She is inefficient.”  He replies in a murmur, keeping his voice flat until you start laughing, “Ah, see?  This route adds at least ten minutes to the trip.”

“Poor GPS lady.”  You sigh, taking your phone back as he hands it over, “Okay, but if we get lost, it’s all your fault.  What were you asking, again?”

“Curious why your work is closed for so long.”  He replies, pulling away from the curb at last.

“Oh!  Miss Kitty is really into the Halamshiral gala.  I guess she throws a huge party for all of her friends on Friday for the broadcast of all the gowns and celebrities and everything.  I guess I shouldn’t complain about time off.”  You say, lifting your shoulders in a shrug.

“Ah.”  Solas replies, with a bit of distaste.

* * *

 

**What’s the matter, don’t like the cult of celebrity worship?**

“Not in the least.”  He replies, a little flatly, voice relaxing after he glances over at you, “That wasn’t a serious question, was it?”

“I already knew the answer.”  You agree with a smile, and then chuckle as he shakes his head slightly, “I didn’t really think you sat at home watching entertainment television and agonizing after the latest celebrity portmanteau.”

“A debasement of a perfectly good linguistic device.”  Solas declares, and this time the heavy disapproval is more playful, not serious.

“Ah yes.  Every time another celebrity couple gets their names combined, the power inherent in the word brunch is lessened.”  You declare, keeping your voice as serious as you can, “I’m sorry about brunch, Solas.”

“We will find another word for it that has not been tainted by rampant portmantologism.”  He promises you, and then smiles when you finally start laughing.

 

It’s a nice drive, and an even better conversation.  Late again, but unlike the weekend the streets are quieter, and this time you’re avoiding the downtown.  It’s tempting, in the closeness to maybe get a little closer, reach out at a stoplight, but you keep your hands to yourself.  

He was telling the truth about knowing his way around, even though you don’t realize he’s made it back to your neighborhood until you see the corner store.  You’ve come in from a different direction than you’re used to.  You point out your building, and he finds a spot to pull over at the curb, a block or so down.

It’s both good, and a little disappointing, because it means the evening’s over.  Probably.  Right?

* * *

 

_See what he does._

 

“May I walk you to your door?”  Solas asks, turning the key in the ignition.

“Yes, thank you.”  You reply, maybe a bit too quickly, “Not that I feel unsafe, I actually like my neighborhood.  Not super stylish, but I like it.”

He’s nice enough not to laugh at you or anything, and you get out of the car quickly, closing your door and stepping around to join him at the curb.  The sidewalk here is slippery, hasn’t been salted yet.  It’s a good excuse to take his arm again.

“It is nice to see older buildings that have yet to be turned into condominiums.”  He agrees, shifting his arm when you reach for his elbow to pull yourself up onto the sidewalk.

You find your hand captured in his, instead, fingers comfortably twining together as you head up the far too short block to your door.  Silly, you have already kissed him, but there’s something intimate about the hand holding that makes your cheeks feel hot.  Hopefully he’ll think it’s from the cold.

He walks you up to your door, and you release his hand as you turn to face him, curiously.  He’s gazing down at you, face hard to read despite the bright light in front of the building surrounding you both.  You could fish out your keys, but instead you wait, tilting your head to the side, hands clasping behind your back.

He watches you in return for a couple of seconds, and then his lips quirk up into a smile, shaking his head very slightly.

“Good night.”  He tells you, taking a half step back.

 

* * *

 

_Grab his arm._

 

Instinct makes you reach for Solas as he pulls back, the sudden return of the winter’s cold not welcome.  Not when he’s so close.

Your fingers find his arm, jacket pulling taut against his bicep, letting you feel the warmth underneath as the light touch stops him as dead.  You’re using next to no force, but you don’t _have_ to.  All it takes is that tiny touch.

It’s just a second’s pause, your hand on his arm, him still facing away from you, but you can feel it then.  You could let him go, but like when you kissed him for the first time, you’re not sure if you pull him in, he could let _you_ go.

It’s a little bit scary, to have that much power over someone.

When you curl your fingers a little tighter, give the tiniest tug, he turns back in to you in an instant.  His arms wrap around you, pushing back the cold entirely as his mouth meets yours in a sudden, passionate kiss.  You wrap your arms around him in return, clinging as he clutches you tightly, your chest pressed to his.

Like before, there’s something desperate in it, in the way he breathes against you, in the embrace he’s pulled you into.  In the way his lips find yours, fiercely longing.  When he breaks it briefly to inhale, he seems to remember himself, his fingers loosening in their grip, hands going flat.  You don’t let him escape, though, not quite yet.

When he kisses you again it’s gentler, and more brief, a hand sliding up to stroke your cheek when it breaks.  The tip of your nose bumps against his as he pulls back, and he gives a faint laugh, air so warm between you that you can’t see his breath.

* * *

 

**Okay.  Now you can say good night.**

 

Solas laughs again, quiet and breathless, his thumb wandering down your cheek.  You lean in to the caress, hands loosening in their grip, his jacket slipping from your hands.

“Good night.” He says, forehead resting briefly against yours before he pulls back.

Again, you feel the winter rush back in, making your cheeks redden as his arms release you and he steps back.  You’re tempted to reach for him _again_ , but it’s late, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for where that would go.

“Good night.”  You reply, matching his smile, and giving a nod as he steps back again.

He’s halfway down the block before you feel like you can breathe normally again, letting out a heavy sigh that drifts upwards.  You fish out your keys, unlock the front door, and head inside.

Luckily tonight there’s nothing shocking in your mail, and when you get upstairs the kittens are ready to curl up with you.  It’s past two o’clock, and you have to be at work by nine thirty.

A late night, but one well worth it.

 

##  **  
End of Day 9**


	10. Tuesday, 6th of Umbralis

Four and a half hours of sleep.

That’s what you’ve gotten when the alarm goes off.  You feel gummy, there’s no other real word for it, limbs heavy, eyelids heavy and gunky.  It’s like trying to move through syrup as you drag yourself out of bed.

Yuck.

The shower helps, clears away some of the ick.  You linger until you’re getting low on hot water, and then get dressed for work.  Breakfast is a slow affair, and you let the kittens climb all over you.  They get cuddled, sometimes against their will.

They can deal with it, they’re soft and warm and rumbly, and you’re tired.

Food helps, caffeine helps, and luckily you have your lunch made, so you don’t have to push yourself.  By the time it’s about when you should go, you’re feeling a little better.

It was worth it.

A text from Solas is on your phone when you unplug it to put it in your purse, letting you know he got home all right.  You also have about a dozen from Sera, and a couple of iguana pictures from Cole.  You take some pictures of the kittens for him, before you head out.

You thank Solas for letting you know, and respond to Sera- she mostly is just complaining more, and sending you more links to articles about the photos.  If you were expecting people to have lost interest, you’d be wrong.  It seems like people care even more than you were expecting.

Maybe because of the new Fen’harel artwork coming out?

 

When you arrive at work, Miss Kitty isn’t there yet, so you let yourself in.  There’s boxes to stomp, and things to put on the shelf while you wait for her to show up and give you a drawer.  Not exciting, but it passes the time.

Miss Kitty gets in sort of late, tired, which seems to be the theme of the day.  Work is unexciting, slow, which doesn’t help you much.  By the time lunch comes around, you’re in dire need of more caffeine.

You’re relieved by Kitty, and head back to clock out for your hour.

* * *

 

**We should see if Dorian wants to get lunch- we can take our packed lunch, no need to waste money.**

You text Dorian, getting a summonses in response.  You haven’t been to his work before, but it’s just a mall, it can’t be that hard to find.  You tuck your lunch into your bag and head out, wasting no time.

Crossing the parking lot, you realize that the protest is still going strong.  In fact, there seems to be even more people there than there was yesterday.  Your car is near the entrance, and you check in on it.  No ticket, like Solas said, it seems as if it was fine.  Still, it might be a good idea to drive it across to work when you finish lunch.

 

The crowd is probably going to be awful, there’s more cars circling the parking lot than there are spaces to fit them into.  You don’t have to wait long to be proven right.  Pushing in through the side entrance, you’re caught up in the flow of traffic almost immediately.

As long as you keep with it, it’s not stifling, turning at the fountain and heading down.  The lights overhead are nice, sparkling stars and crescent moons, and the holiday music you didn’t care for before is a nice counterpoint to the chaos and noise.

Dorian’s work is to your right opposite the corridor leading to the food court, down a good ways.  You recognize it the instant you see it, a window display full of well-tailored suits beckoning you over to House Pavus.

“I really don’t care who he is, frankly.”  You hear Dorian speaking as you duck into the shop, “You would think if he was that important, he would have bought a tuxedo, not rented it.  And if he _is_ that important, he can afford to replace what he’s ruined.”

You’re surrounded by sartorial elegance, rows of suits and accessories, tasteful displays.  Considering the time of year there’s a lot of white and silver, but an equal amount of classic black and white.  There’s tons of parties this time of year, you assume they do quite a bit of business.

You wander over to the counter, Dorian lifting a hand to you, his voice remaining agitated.

“Well, perhaps next time he should avoid the buffet, don’t you think?  Your bill is in the mail.”  He finishes, and then hangs up the phone briskly, heaving a sigh, “We should sell men’s girdles, I swear.”

“Someone popped a button?”  You guess, and then smile when he sighs again, “To be fair, who can say no to a buffet?”

“I can.”  Dorian declares, glancing aside and over at you, “Up too late, were we?”

* * *

 

**The flowers may have worked.**

 

“ _Really_.”  Dorian says, stepping around the counter, his attention turning out to the mall, “Sweet Maker it’s a damn mess out there.”

“Really.”  You agree, and then add, “I brought my lunch today.  I’m grateful for it right now.”

“You are painfully sensible.”  Dorian complains, gesturing for one of the other workers to take over the counter, “Try not to let it infect me, would you?”

“Do you need to go clock out or anything…?”  You ask, forced to pick up your pace to follow him as he abruptly heads out of the store.

“No, I run the bloody place.  Trust me, I’d rather not.  Hanging onto the family business to finance my escape from them is not what I’d prefer to do, but there’s life for you.”  Dorian declares, rolling up his sleeves as you both fight the flow of holiday traffic.  “Enough of that.  So your little romance has borne some fruit?”

“We went out for dinner, after everything closed.  It was…nice.”  You say, with a faint smile.  Nice doesn’t really encompass it, but it works.  “Late, but nice.”

“ _Nice_ , she says, after courting like a romance novel.  I would hope, for your sake, that it would be somewhat better than ‘nice’.”  Dorian says, continuing to forge briskly through the crowd.

You don’t know how he does it.  People just seem to…get out of his way.  You’d be getting thrown all over the place.

* * *

 

 

**It was pretty incredible, I’m just trying not to gush.**

 

“So demure.  You aren’t fooling anyone.”  Dorian says mockingly, and then laughs when you hang your head, “Well, you’re paying the price now.  You know, I don’t believe you actually told me who this mystery beau is, have you?”

“I am paying the price, but I’m going to sleep so well tonight.”  You confirm, and then admit, “I don’t know if you know him.  His name is Solas, he…”

“Owns that ridiculous little shop.”  Dorian finishes, fixing you with a rather intense stare, “Yes, I know the man.”

“Okay…”  You say, shifting slightly under the intense scrutiny, “And…?”

“I’m trying to envision it.”  Dorian says, and then hastens to add with a look of disgust, “No.  Not _that_.  Don’t even think…”

“Too late.  Now I’m thinking about you thinking about it.”  You tell Dorian, and then laughs as he closes his eyes and sighs, “Well, you did start it.”

“He’s just so…disagreeable.”  Dorian finally says, picking up his sandwich in both hands.  “I can’t for the life of me see the allure.”

* * *

 

**I would explain the allure to you, Dorian, but you already told me not to go there.**

“Tart.”  Dorian accuses, giving a faint ‘hmph’ when you start laughing.

“Are we going for archaic insults now?”  You ask, still laughing, “Maybe you shouldn’t ask if you don’t want to know.”

“It seemed to suit you.  Well, I suppose an old book fetish is about on par with a typewriter fetish.”  He muses, giving a small shake of his head.

“Yes, but his pants aren’t too tight.”  You point out, scooping up another bite of food.

“And I’m certain you’re devastated by that.”  Dorian quips back.

He seems fine with dropping the subject at that point, and you both set to eating your lunch.  It’s nice to meet him here, but considering you have to go back and forth across the road, there’s not as much time to chat as you’d like.  Especially today, he actually seems in a hurry, if grateful for the company.

For once it’s not you that’s running behind, but him, and you actually end up having time to walk him back to work.  Although, as you struggle to keep up with him, you’re regretting saying you would.

It’s so loud you don’t realise he’s asked you a question until you both duck back into his work, and he turns to face you with an expectant look on your face.

“What?  Sorry.”  You say quickly.

“I asked if you’re going to be here for the Thursday night chaos next week, or if you’re going downtown for the parade.”  He repeats, only a little exasperated.

* * *

 

**I have _no_ idea.**

 

“Fair.  I know the feeling entirely.”  Dorian says, dryly, “Will the customers be terrible that day?  No one knows.  If things continue as they have been, however, I may end up hiding somewhere with a case of wine.  The rabble can be a bit much.”

“Playing it by ear might be for the best.”  You agree sympathetically, with a grimace, “I hope the rest of your day isn’t too bad.”

“If it is, you’ll hear about it.”  He promises you, and then lifts a hand and waves it at you, “Go on, then, you have smut to distribute, don’t you?”

“Yep, that’s me!”  You agree, lifting a hand to wave goodbye to him as you head out of the shop. 

It’s tempting to go poke your head in at Solas’, as you head back out again into the mall, but there just isn’t time.  Getting out takes as long as it does to get back across the street now, and without Dorian confidently leading the way people don’t seem inclined to make way for you.

How _does_ he do it?

Eventually you struggle your way back out to the parking lot, glad to see they’ve salted everything down.  No slipping and sliding as you make your way back to work, and an afternoon of pornographic peddling.

It was wishful thinking that it wouldn’t get busy just because it’s a porn shop.  Your reprieve from the holiday crowds seems to be over- not that it’s as bad as the mall, oh no, but your afternoons of alphabetizing videos and playing on your phone are over.

Even Kitty does some work.

By the time six thirty rolls around, you feel like you did a full day’s work, and the lack of sleep has you dragging.  You’re really feeling it now, brain starting to slow, eyes a little foggy.  

You clock out, chat briefly with Sera as she gets in for the night shift, but once she realizes how exhausted you are, she just waves you off and tells you to call her tomorrow.  Hopefully you’ll remember to.

* * *

 

**We’re here.  You know Solas always closes the shop, we can go say hi at least before we go home.**

 

The cold is bracing, at least, as you head out of work and trudge your way back across to the mall again.  It pushes the fog in your head back a little, though the blast of heat as you push inside fights with it a little.  You forge against the tide of people, the hum of voices and the tinkle of music in your ears.

It’s so much noise that it’s almost numbing, and you’re cracking a yawn again as you struggle out of the current and flop into Antediluvia, letting yourself adjust to the dimmer light inside the shop.

Amusingly, Solas hasn’t made a single concession for the holiday.  No decorations at all, no special displays.  If he was at the counter, you’d probably be teasing him about not wanting customers again, but he’s not.  Cole is, fighting with a roll of receipt paper.

When you approach, he glances up and offers it hopefully to you.  Having nails, you pick open the sticker for him and tear it off without too much trouble, passing it back.

“Thank you.”  He says with some relief, replacing it in the machine.  “And hello!”

“Hi, Cole.”  You greet, tucking your chin into your scarf, “Just got off of work.  Is Solas in, or is he not back for the night yet?”

“Yes, he’s here.”  Cole says, feeding the paper through the machine.  You wait, until he glances up, and seems to realize he hasn’t quite clarified.  “In the back.”

“Oh!  Well…can I knock or something?”  You ask, a little uncertainly, “I guess I could text him, but…”

“You can go in.  He won’t mind.”  Cole assures you, closing up the register again, “I know he won’t.”

Well, you could take him at his word there, but…

* * *

 

**_Go poke your head into the back room._**

Taking Cole at his word, you wander over to the door to your left, tucked in the back corner of the shop between two bookshelves.  Shelves full of books you’re tempted to be distracted by…but no, you resist.  It’s not time to read, and besides, you’re a bit too tired.

The door isn’t locked, the handle turns easily under your hand, and it creaks open quietly as you pull it open.  If the shop is dim, the back room is dimmer, but comfortingly so.

Maybe it’s because it smells like dust and old books, a familiar, treasured smell.  You can’t see much of anything, because there’s a long metal shelf full of boxes directly in front of you, and the only light in the room is coming from behind it.  You’re forced to shuffle in, door closing behind you, and you frown and tilt your head.

“Hello?”  You ask, scooting to the side so you can slip around the shelf, “Solas?”

Once you make your way around the shelf, it becomes clear this isn’t just a storage room, it’s an office, too.  Well, of course it is.  Where else would he have one?

Tucked into a  back corner is a long, heavy old desk, strewn with papers and curious odds and ends that look like they belong in the display cases out front.  Normally you’d be curious about them, but that’s not what draws your attention.

Behind the desk, in lieu of a rolling chair with scratchy fabric, is another of those heavy armchairs like he keeps behind the counter.  Solas is sitting in it.  Head back, glasses slightly askew, a pen a few inches from his hand on the desk like it rolled out of his fingers.

He’s _asleep._

After a second’s disbelief, you’re simultaneously on the verge of laughing, and somewhat jealous.  How is that fair?  You were both up way too late, but he gets to take naps at work, and you just have to slog through it!?

* * *

 

**The hell with that, let’s join him.  That looks comfy.**

 

 

As tempting as it is to just plop in the chair (and of course the lap in said chair), you know better than that.  Luckily it is a big seat, with a pretty decently big arm to perch on.  Comfortable enough, but not so comfortable you’re in danger of falling asleep.  

You settle back, adjusting your purse, and then taking a minute to curiously scan the desk.  You’re considering the merits of leaning over and poking him a bit, examining what seems to be a carved stone bird skull that’s just out of your reach, when he shifts out of the corner of your vision.

“Hi.”  You greet quietly, awkwardly upside down as his head slides over to bump his temple against your shoulder, and he peers up at you.

Breathing in sharply, he reaches up and removes his glasses, setting them down on the desk and then rubbing at the inside corners of his eyes.  You wait patiently, 

“I was not asleep.”  Solas finally informs you, and then covers his mouth to yawn.

“No of cour…”  You start, before the yawn catches, and you end up succumbing to it as well, until your ears pop.  

He laughs at you, but it’s barely a breath through his nose, so faint that you can’t take offense.  Besides, you’re busy wiping your eyes while they water.  He doesn’t bother asking why you’re there, or look annoyed that you’ve suddenly appeared.  You’re not sure how much of that is because he just woke up, though.

“Time?”  He asks simply.

“Six thirtyish?”  You mumble, swaying a little as he lifts his head, and you nearly slide off of the arm of the chair.  

“An hour would not hurt.”  He decides, still sounding half asleep, “Cole is here…until eight.”

He moves over a bit, though there’s really not a ton of room in the chair.  It’s not a two person seat, after all.  But you could probably scoot down and join him, even if it’s a snug fit.

* * *

 

**_Yeah, why not?  You don’t have anywhere to be._**

Succumbing to yawning and the offered sliver of chair, you slide off of the arm and wedge yourself in next to Solas.   It takes you both a second to get settled before it goes from squashed to comfortable, and you end up with one of your legs over his.  He doesn’t seem to care, but you’re pretty sure he’s already dropped off again.  Normally it would probably still not be that comfortable (and maybe a bit too flustered to settle), but he’s warm and you’re tired.

You fall asleep listening to him breathe, not even the light enough to keep you from your well-deserved nap.

 

It feels like only seconds later that you’re gently being roused, first by the shift of something underneath you, and then by a faint laugh.  You’re tired, still damn tired, and instead of opening your eyes, you close them tighter.  You’re not quite as squashed as you were, which is nice, even if you seemed to have your head at a bad angle.

You hear someone say something, but you’re not able to make it out until they repeat it, much closer to your ear.

“I do need my arm back.”  Solas informs you quietly.

Oh, that’s what’s tucked around you, behind your back.  You probably should give it back, really, but it’s nice.

* * *

 

**No, it’s my arm now.**

 

You hear him laugh again, low and warm and surprisingly close to your ear.  As consciousness gets a bit more viable, you realize you’re leaning against the side of his chest.  It explains why your cheek is so hot.  

“You cannot go around taking other people’s arms.”  Solas informs you, and then carefully extricates himself while you grumble about it.  “I still have need of it.”

“It’s not someone else’s arm.”  You argue drowsily, “It’s mine now, I told you.”

Sadly, it seems he’s sticking to it, because his (your) arm is pulled out from behind you, and he uses that hand to prop up your shoulder while he rises.  There goes your arm AND your warm.  How the hell is that fair?

Life is unrelentingly cruel.

“Am I leaving you here?”  He asks curiously, a hint of laughter still in his voice.

“Sorry.”  You apologize, reaching up to rub at your eyes, head still muddy.

“No apologies necessary, it doesn’t bother me.”  He says, giving your shoulder a brief caress before releasing you, “It’s just after eight, you could rest another two hours.”

* * *

 

**No, no, better not.  I won’t be able to sleep tonight.**

 

“Understood.”  Solas says, offering his hand down to you.

You take it, heaving yourself to your feet, leaving the embrace of the big chair.  Upright, you start to feel a little less bleary, releasing Solas’ hand when he squeezes yours and then drops it.  Rubbing your hands across your face until your skin tingles, you give a wide yawn, rolling both shoulders back.  Only your neck’s a little stiff, that’s nice.

“How was your day?”  He asks you when you drop your hands, stepping around the desk as he pulls on your glasses, “Apart from the obvious, of course.”

“Busy!  Like a real store.”  You joke, turning to follow him back out of the small room, “But unexciting.  Probably for the best since I was so tired.”

“You said tomorrow is your day off?”  He asks, getting the door for you.

“Wednesday and Sunday.  Not my favorite thing, having my days off split up, but it’s actually a little nice being able to get things done in the middle of the week.”  You say, giving Cole a little wave as you step out into the shop.  

“Well, at the very least, you will be able to get a full night’s rest.”  He says, pulling the door shut behind himself.

“And here I thought you were going to ask me to do something.”  You remark, not bothering to hide the disappointment.

“I have a very full day tomorrow.”  He says apologetically, “I have a great many last minute orders to fill, I doubt I will be leaving that back room except to tend to the shop and go to drop off the post.”

* * *

 

**And nap.  You forgot nap.**

 

“How is it,”  Solas complains, heading towards the counter as you laugh, “That you were sleeping next to me, and yet I am the one being needled over it?”

You follow after him, glancing over at the chaos outside the store on your way.  Yep, it’s packed.  Yikes.

“I don’t know.”  Cole says, speaking up suddenly, voice very thoughtful, “Maybe it’s because you do it so often, Solas?”

There’s silence for a few seconds, and then Solas sighs when you start laughing again, harder than before.

“That could be it, Cole, yes, though she was not aware of that until just now.”  Solas replies calmly, before letting his exasperation leak into his voice, hiding a smile, “Please stop laughing.”

It’s hard.  It’s really hard, but you do your best, reaching up to wipe at your eyes.  Your chest sort of hurts, a little more as you force the giggles back.  You nearly have them under control when Solas sighs again, fondly this time. and leans over to kiss the side of your head.

Well, that did the job.  You clear your throat, last bit of laughter escaping in a heavy breath.

“I’m going to clock out now.”  Cole decides, giving you both a smile as he leaves the counter behind.

“Thank you, Cole.”  Solas says, and then glances back to you, “Charming though it is, I assume you weren’t planning to spend the whole evening teasing me?”

* * *

 

**Nope.  I think I might walk Cole out, actually.**

 

“It makes me happy that you two get along so well.”  Solas says, opening the register and picking out the pile of receipts.

You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised they don’t bother to switch it out.  It’s just the two of them, and Solas obviously trusts Cole completely.

“He’s good company, and good people.”  You say, wandering around to the front of the counter, after making sure you’re not in the way of any potential customers, “I’ll text you?”

“If we must.”  He sighs, shaking his head, “Even if it is disappointingly straightforward.”

“It can’t all be flowers.”  You tell him with a smile, “For one, we’d go broke.”

“I cannot foresee any other possible issues with it, but perhaps you are right.”  Solas allows, smiling faintly when you laugh, “Drive safely.”

“I will.  You too.”

He leans forward, and you do too.  It just feels natural.  His lips meet yours in a brief, but warmly affectionate kiss.  Not a pulse-pounding-in-your-ears, breathless drowning in you kiss, but it makes your heart beat a little faster anyways.  An ordinary kiss, the kind that tells you that kissing each other isn’t something that’s going away any time soon.

And that’s something worth smiling about.

It’s over too soon, but that’s not surprising considering the venue, and the fact that Cole’s just returned, buttoning up his coat.  

He’s pleased that you’re walking him out, and you both say one last goodbye to Solas before forging out into the mall, for the exit beyond.

 

Once you hit the crowd, Cole doesn’t seem interested in chatting, just escaping from it.  He’s quiet until you manage to make it out into the parking lot, and he gives a quiet sigh.

“It must be nice working in a shop that doesn’t get so crazy and crowded.”  You guess, following along beside him.

“Yes.”  Cole says fervently.

* * *

 

**It’s an odd place for his shop.  It seems more like it belongs in a quiet street over by the university or something.**

“They don’t want him there.”  Cole agrees, hands in his pockets as you both crunch your way across the parking lot, trying to avoid the cars.  “They raise the rent every year, he said.”

“Really?”  You ask, and then laugh a little, “Wow, he’s stubborn.”

“Yes.”  Cole agrees, giving you a faint smile aside, adding a bit out of nowhere, “He likes you.”

For some reason, that almost embarrasses you, and you laugh quietly, lifting your shoulders for a second.  Why it’s embarrassing, you don’t know, but he says it so matter-of-factly.

“I like him too.”  You finally reply, and then give another laugh.  “A lot, actually.”

“You smile more.”  Cole tells you, and then adds, thoughtfully, “You always smile, but you still smile more.  Solas didn’t, but now he is too.”

You’re almost to the bus stop, the back of the Hanged Man up ahead of you.  That’s right, he seems to ride the bus to and from the mall.  You’d just assume to save time, if it was anyone else.

“Where’s your car?”  You ask curiously.

“The woman who lives below me drives it.”  Cole tells you, “She had to run away, and she took her baby, but she didn’t take her car.  She has to work, and take the baby to daycare.  It’s far.”

* * *

 

**Oh, wow, I had no idea.  Does she have everything she needs?  Is there anything I can do?**

 

“She doesn’t like people helping.”  Cole tells you apologetically, “But thank you.  It’s nice of you to care.”

“Trust you to be able to help people who don’t like being helped.”  You say, with a smile, “I understand, though.”

“I make mistakes.  I don’t like…making mistakes.”  Cole says, “But everyone does, it doesn’t mean I should stop.  I try to remember that.”

“It can be hard.  Just let me know if I can ever help, okay?”  You say, meeting his smile, “I may not be as good at it as you…”

“You’re already helping.”  Cole assures you.

You’re used to him enough by now that you don’t bother asking.  It’s true, you have helped him before.  That has to be what he’s talking about.

“I do what I can.”  You agree, rising when he does, as the bus comes in.

It stops at the curb with a screech, doors opening.  A few people get off, heading straight for the bar.  Well, good on them for not driving.

“I hope it will be enough.”  Cole tells you, giving a small nod of his head, “This is my bus, I need to be on it.”

“I know.”  You say with a smile, following after him, puzzling over his words, “Enough for what, Cole?”

He turns to glance back at you, fishing his card out of his pocket, but it’s too late, the door has slammed closed behind him.  After a few seconds, you lift a hand and wave as the bus jerks away from the curb and starts off again.

You’re used to him being a little cryptic, so it’s really not that remarkable.

 

Your car is across the street, just a quick walk, and then a drive home.  It’s almost nine thirty, but you’re really too tired to stay up.  The nap helped, but not nearly enough for you to do anything useful with the rest of the evening.

So, you shower, feed the cats, check your messages, and head to bed.

##    
**END OF DAY 10**


	11. Wednesday, the 7th of Umbralis

You spend your morning on campus with Dagna, being hustled around and chattered at.  It’s a bit bigger than your old university, but there’s plenty of maps.  Dagna’s hilarious, and good company, making what could be a boring tour a lot more interesting.

Although the library’s open, and you get to poke around and ooh and ah, you can’t do much more than that just yet.  Need all your identification, and it’s not quite time for that yet.

Boo.  It’ll be the public library for you for a bit longer.

Once you’ve figured out where all the buildings you need to know are, you spend some time chatting with Dagna, and you’re feeling more comfortable, it’s a bit past noon and you’re starting to get hungry.  

Dagna’s still got work to do, so you say your farewells and head back out from her lab to the parking lot.  

 

As you’re pulling in to park, your phone starts ringing, and you let it for a couple seconds until you turn off the car.  Fishing it out of your pocket, you glance at the screen.  It’s Sera.

“Hey.  How’s work?”  You ask her, tucking it into your shoulder as you gather up your stuff and open the door.

“Stupid.”  She replies flatly, and then sighs when you laugh, “Swear it, I swear it I’m quittin’.  Friggin’ hate the mall.”

“Just another week.”  You tell her placatingly, locking up the car and heading around to the front of the building, “Hey, don’t forget, it’s snowing tonight.  A couple feet, maybe!”

“Ugh.”  Sera declares, and then adds suspiciously, “Why you sound happy about that?”

“Because.”  You say simply, and then laugh at her sound of disgust, keying open the front door and slipping into the lobby, “Are you on lunch?”

“Yeah.  Fenris _finally_ got in, pain in my arse, but he’s better ‘en some.”  Sera says, and then you hear her slurping on her straw.

“I like him.”  You say, musingly, “Sometimes I can’t tell if he likes me or not, th…”

Your mail box opens, keys swinging from the slot as you pull it open.  Not much today, just a couple of pieces of junk mail.

And a large, thick manila folder, halfway folded to fix in the box.  It doesn’t take more than a glance to realize you recognize the handwriting.  Your stomach plummets.

You just stare at it for maybe thirty seconds, until someone abruptly whistles in your ear, deafeningly.

“OW!  What?”  You ask, ears ringing.

“Trying to talk to you!”  Sera retorts, irritably.

 

* * *

 

**Sera he sent me something again.  It’s in my mailbox.**

Sera goes quiet for a second, and you resist the urge to slam your mailbox closed.

“Well?”  She finally asks, and you can tell she’s trying to hide her excitement, “What is it?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t touched it.”  You reply, and then add a little sarcastically, “I’m fine, by the way.”

“Sorry.”  Sera says instantly, a little chagrined, “But really…”

To be fair, she’s not hassling you to open it open it, which you realize must be hard.  Steeling yourself, you tuck your phone back in against your shoulder and tug it out.  It is a folder, but one of those big ones, with a flap that ties down with string, and it’s been sealed up with tape and addressed like a letter, stamps and all.

At least he didn’t put it in your mailbox himself?  That would be worse.

It’s heavy.  Not like the pictures were, nothing as obvious as that, but it’s clear there’s a couple things in here.  Probably all papers, though, you don’t see anything lumpy.

“Hey?”  Sera finally asks you, a bit more hesitantly this time.

“I’m okay.”  You assure her, hoping it doesn’t sound like a lie.

* * *

 

**Give me a minute to get upstairs, and I’ll open it.**

You can practically _hear_ Sera being impatient as you lock up your mailbox and head upstairs, the folder barely fitting inside your purse.  She doesn’t say anything, but you can hear her chair squeaking, foot tapping…

“All right, all right already!”  You finally say, pushing into your apartment, “Are you going to explode or something?”

“No.”  Sera retorts, and then gives a loud sigh, “C’mon.  Bet it’s more pictures.  Better be.”

“I don’t think it’s pictures.”  You reply, heading for the couch as Fen bounces over to attack your shoelaces.  

Puzzled by your not stopping to greet them, the cats trail after you.  You’re a bit preoccupied, though, setting the folder across your knees as you plop down, glancing at the front again before turning it over.

“Huh, that’s weird.”  You say, glancing over the address, “It’s not just to me, it’s to me and…Jenny Archer?  I don’t know anyone named that, do you?”

“Oops.”  Sera replies almost instantly.

“Oops.  Great, oops.  Why oops?”  You ask, maybe a little louder than necessary, “Who the hell _is_ that?”

“Well, it’s anonymous, yeah, but you gotta have a fake name to _be_ anonymous.”  Sera replies defensively, “It was th’first name I thought of!  Besides, only my friends know it…you know, the friends I told you about.”

“Yeah, your friends.  With the stalking and the weird Fen’harel worship and the raging against the machine.  Hey, the guy sending me creepy mail has infiltrated your weird internet friends!  That’s great!”  You say, voice rising, “So what, he sent us those pictures and then he’s been tracking what we do with them?  That’s not creepy at all!  Not in the _slightest!”_

“Calm down, yeah?”  Sera replies, a little bit taken-aback. 

 

* * *

 

**THIS IS ME BEING CALM.**

“Don’t have t’yell at me!”  Sera replies, almost in a yelp as you shout into the phone.  “Frigging just open it, yeah?  Just makin’ it worse!”

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes for a second.  She’s right.  You’re psyching yourself out.  Fingers find the edge of the tape and pick at it, peeling it away from the envelope.  You ball it up, and then toss it on the floor to distract Atisha from her whining about not being picked up.  She goes scampering after it, and Fen chases her.

The string unwinds easily, and you push up the flap of the folder, glancing inside.

“There’s…some envelopes.”  You tell her, pulling them out, “A couple big ones, a letter-sized one…they’re all numbered.”

“Well, open th’first one.”  Sera demands, and this time you let it slide.

The first envelope is the small one, and you’re not surprised when you flip it open that it’s a letter.  Of course it is.  You start reading it out loud, rather than clamming up.

 

_Wifey,_

_You did okay._

_I’m not super happy that you went and told you know who after I specifically told you not to, but hey, you’re lucky I’m not the one making the calls right now.  Trust me, if I had my way, you wouldn’t be involved._

_I meant that in the nice way, not the threatening way, but feel free not to believe me.  I wouldn’t._

_My friend would like your help.  I said you wouldn’t be up for it, but they think otherwise.  So, I’m sending this to both of you, because I believe in the power of peer pressure._

_People deserve to hear.  They’re not going to, unless you come help us._

_No threats this time, I promise.  At least from me.  My friend?  Well, just stay out of their way and do what you need to do, and there won’t be any problems at all._

_Have fun!_

_P.S.  Bring backup.  You might need it._

 

You’re regretting reading it out loud now.  Peer pressure, huh?  Well, you guess that means whatever’s in here, it’s something Sera won’t be able to say no to.  What an asshole.  Him…or his friend, anyways.  You can only assume he means…

 

The second envelope tears open under your thumb.  It’s large, document sized, and what slides out of it has you momentarily, blindly confused.  Four more envelopes, heavy and glossy.  White with reflective gold and silver decorations, the scrolling script across it proudly proclaims it to be the 30th anniversary.

Thirtieth anniversary of what?

Setting the other three aside, you slide open the strange envelope, a handful of other documents inside spilling out.  The first one is a map, the second a schedule, the last one a card.  You already know what it is by then, but when you flip it open it only confirms it.

 

You’re holding four invitations to the Halamshiral Gala.

 

The, several tens of thousand dollars a head, red carpet, ‘for charity’ celebrity back-patting, Valmont family Halamshiral Gala.  And you have four invitations to it.  In your lap.  Your lap now holds more monetary worth than you make in two or more years.  You could go to college for the next decade on that money, you could…

“What _IS_ it?”  Sera demands, impatiently.

 

* * *

 

**What the _FUCK?!_**

It takes you a minute.

Sera’s not feeling very patient, but she mostly just yells the word ‘what’ at you over and over while you curse and freak out and try not to hyperventilate.  Eventually, through the cursing, you manage to tell her what it is, and the ‘what’s turn into ‘no frigging way’s and other assorted expressions of disbelief.

You both do a lot of yelling.

“What’s the rest?”  Sera finally manages to get out, as you dump the invitations out of your lap and onto the coffee table.

“I don’t know, I don’t…”  You say, stammering, hands shaking a little as you go for the third envelope.  You tear it open, and give a disbelieving laugh as a small plastic card slides out into your fingertips, along with a sheet of paper.  “It’s a…it’s for plane tickets, it’s a freaking gift card.  Holy shit that’s a lot of money.”

You’re not sure, at this point, if it’s getting worse or getting better, but all you know is that you’re pretty sure that’s enough for tickets around the holiday, yeah.  Also, you now know they make airline gift cards…in very large denominations.

You toss it down on the table, feeling very weird about handling so much money.  Yes, it’s not actual money, like cash, but…Maker’s balls that’s a lot of money.

Luckily, shock’s handily taken over, and the fourth envelope doesn’t send you into heart palpitations.  

“And…hotel.”  You finish, sinking back in your seat, staring at the paper in your hand as it trembles, “Two rooms, already paid for.  And, in case you were wondering, no, it didn’t work.  One of them is under your _actual_ name.”

 

Sera’s silent for a couple minutes at last, and you just sit there shaking, feeling Fen kicking the side of your shoe as he wrestles with your lace.  

“So…when we leave?”  Sera finally asks, hopefully.

 

* * *

 

**The first night on the hotel reservation is Thursday.**

“Next Thursday.”  You add, before Sera can get too worked up, “This is insane.  There’s four.  Why are there four?”

“Did say bring backup.”  Sera reminds you, and then gives a small curse, “Knew they wouldn’t let it go, wouldn’t let those rich tits sit all smug an’ mighty.  I knew it, didn’I?  Something’s happening.”

“I don’t get it.  What do you mean?”  You ask, setting the hotel reservation down on the pile, staring at it.

“Why they sent you the pictures.  I didn’t get it, but I do, now.”  Sera says, a bit too smugly for your taste.

“They.  More theys.”  You mutter, reaching up to rub your forehead.  “Sera, make this make sense.  Please.”

“It was a test, wasn’it?  Now they know you’ll help tell people, brilliant, really.  Don’t know why he didn’t just send it to me, though…”  She says, trailing off to a murmur before perking up again, “Doesn’t matter.  Somethin’s happening at the stupid party, and he wants us there so we can make sure they don’t cover it up.  We’re gonna make sure, whatever happens, people find out.”

“Fen’harel.  You think Fen’harel invited us to this overpriced party.”  You say flatly to Sera.  “This is all some big conspiracy thing and we’re just there to be witnesses?  You really think he’s going to swoop in, go ‘these assholes are pretending I made this dumb art’, destroy the system, name you his sidekick, and then swoop back out into the night to come back from his retirement or something?”

“He wants us to _help.”_  Sera insists, voice almost breaking.  “Really help.  Us.”

 

Right.  Peer pressure.

 

* * *

 

**Ugh, I’m going to need a dress.**

“Won’t regret it.  Promise.”  Sera tells you fervently, starting to speak again when she’s abruptly interrupted.

You can’t make it out, little more than a mumble, but you have a pretty good idea she’s being told to get her ass back to work.  She sighs in your ear, heavily.

“Shut up!”  Sera orders, and even though you know it’s not for you, you wince slightly, “Be right…yeah, I said I will!  Not gonna _believe_ …”

“Sera, no!”  You say desperately, cutting her off, “No, not yet.  Not your internet people, not anyone else, either, okay?  We’ve got to figure this out.”

“All right, all right…”  She says distractedly.

“Sera!”  You repeat, more firmly.

“All right!”  She says, and then heaves a long, heavy sigh, “All right.  You win.  Keepin’ my mouth shut.”

“Thank you.”  You sigh.

“Gotta go.  Come bring it by, I wanna see.”  Sera says, and then abruptly hangs up on you.

She only sounded a little annoyed.  You understand being excited, but you really don’t need the whole universe finding out about this.  Setting down your phone, you pick up the invitation you opened again, examining it.

Is it legitimate?  You really have no way of knowing.

Somebody might, right?  Who, though?

 

* * *

 

**Let’s text Dorian.  We need help.**

At a complete loss, you open your phone and start texting Dorian.  Sure, you told Sera not to tell anyone, but let’s be honest, she’s doing stuff that you’re not even clear about, and you just don’t trust that it won’t end up all over the internet.

You just have to figure out if this is some sort of weird prank or not.

  
  
  


At least he’s thought of something.  You hope it’s actually something useful, but anything reassuring will help at this point.  And it’s a good point about the hotel.  You take care of that right away, using the information that was tucked into the envelope.

The woman on the phone when you call is quietly, crisply professional, and she easily confirms both the hotel room, and that the payments have been handled.  She won’t give you any more information than that, though.  Not about who paid it, even though you try.

You have a feeling pushing might get you in trouble, so you drop it at that, and end the call.

Well, it looks like you’re heading back to the mall.

 

* * *

 

**Okay.  There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge, let’s take that.**

You just grab the bottle of wine out of your fridge.  Not like you had plans for it, anyways.  Have to smuggle it into the mall, but that’s not really a problem.  Your laptop bag fits everything, and you tuck all the papers back away very carefully.  Very, very carefully.

You’re carrying so much money in that bag right now that you may as well be in a heist movie.

There’s no way to not be nervous about that much money, but maybe it’s good.  You would rather have it with you than leave it at home, though.  The bag sits next to you on the drive over, and immediately goes back over your shoulder when you park across the street from the mall.

Kitty won’t mind, and there isn’t any parking to be found across the way unless you circle a few dozen times.

You head in with a hand always on your bag, but duck around the building instead of forging through it.  It’s actually faster to go all the way around the mall, rather than try to cut through.

 

When you duck into House Pavus, there’s what you assume is a bridal party in trying on their tuxes.  You say assume, because they’re all wearing matching bright purple bowties.  Well, to each their own.

Dorian is standing behind the counter talking to a sheepish-looking girl, who seems relieved when he stops at the sight of you.

“I feel like I should have hired a bodyguard just to walk me in.”  You tell him, clutching the bag a little tighter.

“After what I’ve seen in the last twenty minutes, I don’t blame you.”  Dorian says, gesturing for the girl to go back to her register, “Let’s go into the office, there’s something I need to show you.”

“This is a family business, right?”  You ask him, giving the girl a small smile before following him through a door.

“Yes and no.  My father has other concerns.  He may look down on it, but he certainly doesn’t look down on the money, I can tell you that much.”  Dorian says, a hint of scorn in his voice as he settles into the chair behind the desk, “Hopefully this year I can find a laboratory position, like Dagna, and leave retail behind.”

Your response is silenced as he turns the computer monitor to face you, and you wander over to join him.

“Lady Rochelle duBois.  Compulsive social networker.  I knew someone would have the need to show off their invitation.”  Dorian says, gesturing to the picture on the screen.

Reaching down, you open your bag and fish out one of the heavy invitation packets.  The name sounds vaguely familiar, but you’re not sure why at first.

“Wait, isn’t she that Orlesian girl with the reality show?”  You ask, gently opening the envelope and drawing out the contents, setting them down on the desk.

“Yes.  And a title, which somehow makes the crassness less crass.  Or more aspirational.”  Dorian replies, reaching over and carefully picking up the invitation, glancing at you when you sharply inhale, “Relax, would you, you’re making _me_ nervous.”

“Sorry.”  You apologise, glancing at the picture again, “It looks right to me.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”  Dorian agrees, switching tabs to another one, “This one is being scalped for sixty thousand dollars.  Someone sent all their money up their nose, I’d wager.”

“Sixty…”  You start, and then cut off, shaking your head rapidly, “Is there someone I can call, do you think?  Whoever runs this event, they can confirm it, right?”

“I would imagine there must be.”  Dorian agrees, turning over the invitation, “Not certain where, though we can likely find it.  What are you going to do if they are real?”

 

* * *

 

**Panic.**

“Dramatic.  Let me know if I need to find you a fainting couch.”  Dorian says to you, pulling the computer screen back around, “You are going to have to explain this entire story to me while I try to find this phone number or contact.  You would think there would be something…”

You drag out the bottle of wine from the bottom of your bag, unwrapping it from the grocery bag you used to keep it from getting your papers damp.  It’s a screw top, which makes Dorian sigh, but you notice he doesn’t hesitate to pour himself a coffee mug of it.  Your coffee mug is painted to look like it’s wearing a tuxedo.  Cute!

While he hunts, you talk, and look at pictures on your phone.  Not many people go taking pictures of their invitations, but luckily there’s still some people in the world hungry for the attention.

You can’t find anything that indicates yours are fakes.  Which could just mean they’re really _good_ fakes.  Still, it’s comforting.

“This is all starting to sound rather like some sort of big public spectacle, isn’t it?”  Dorian asks you when you finally run out of breath and story.

“I’m still not completely getting it.”  You admit, “Why me?  Why Sera?  Why any of this?”

“Perhaps he’s tired of being retired.  Perhaps he engineered this entire thing to plant a very large middle finger in the middle of Celene Valmont’s soiree.”  Dorian replies, absently, “It all makes some sense, doesn’t it?  Making a fool of her.  Making an example of her for his glorious return.”

“Really.  Then what about the gallery?”  You ask, uncertainly, “Why go to all this trouble?  It seems pretty roundabout.  Why her?  There’s plenty of awful people out there.”

“I have no idea.  It does seem a bit petty, doesn’t it?  Set her up into thinking she has a famous artist in her pocket, and then publicly humiliate her?  Good timing for it, though, with the protests.  People _will_ be listening.”  Dorian says, shaking his head, “As for the why you, I’d assume because you’re convenient.  Sorry, dear, you might just be an easy to manipulate witness to make sure it ends up plastered all over the internet.”

“Well, I’ve proved I’ll do it, haven’t I?  With the pictures?”  You reply, a bit morosely, staring into your wine, “Sera thinks we’re going to go be badass vigilantes helping kick ass with Fen’Harel, but he’s probably just using us.”

“That’s what it generally comes down to, yes.”  Dorian agrees,  “At least you’re getting a vacation out of the deal?  If you know what you’re getting into with both eyes open, it’s not really so bad.”

 

* * *

 

**Ah well.  Subterfuge can be fun, and if nothing else, it’ll be a really great story some day.**

“That’s optimistic…”  Dorian murmurs, fishing out his phone, “You can’t really decide if you’re excited about this or not, can you?”

“I keep bouncing back and forth between ‘woah this is amazing’ and ‘everything is going to burst into flame’.”  You admit, watching him curiously, “Did you find something?”

“Yes.  Hush.”  He orders you, dialing a number, “Drink your wine and watch a master at work.”

You obediently sip your wine, curiosity keeping you silent for the moment.  Dorian stares at the wall as he lifts the phone to his ear, free hand idly tapping on his desk.

“Yes, hello.  Cecilia was it?”  Dorian asks, managing to sound both annoyed and harried, “I apologise.  I’m Lady duBois’ assistant.  She’s in a complete panic, and I was hoping you might have a way for me to set her mind at ease.”

You watch him curiously, glancing from him to the invitation.  What could he be up to?

“She was so excited when she received her invitation, that she of course shared it with her many, many fans on the internet…”  Dorian pauses, and then laughs, just a bit derisive, “Yes, she does love to share.  Someone informed her, however, that the pictures she shared might have made it possible for someone to counterfeit her invitation.  It’s the card that’s to be brought to the door, yes?”

You watch as he reaches over for the item in question, flipping it open with his thumb as he gazes down at it.

“All right…”  He murmurs, turning the card over, “Yes, I see it there.  Oh, that’s quite clever.  Thank you, Cecilia.  You’ve saved me from the worst sort of headache.  Yes.  You too.”

It’s hard not to say something, but you manage to wait until he hangs up the phone.

“So?”

“Scan code.”  Dorian tells you, flipping over the card to show you the back of it.  “Down there in the corner, it’s camouflaged.  Clever of them.”

“So they are real.  Thank you, Dorian.”  You sigh, leaning back in your seat, “Or at least, we won’t know for sure until they throw us out at the door if they’re not.”

“Seems to be the case.”  Dorian agrees, tossing the card down, and reaching for his wine, “That’s the best you’re going to get.”

 

* * *

 

**I should tell Solas about this, I think.  He knows Felassan, after all.**

 

You finish piling copious thanks on Dorian, drain your wine, and then gather up all your things again.  Even with everything in their envelopes, and closed up tight you still can’t help but clutch the bag to your chest as you head out into the crowded mall.

You know he’s busy, he told you as much yesterday, but you have a feeling he’ll understand.  Cole is manning the shop, but taking care of a customer when you enter.  You wait, patiently, arms clutching the bag of more money than you’ve ever seen in your life.

It’s a bit intimidating even now.  Not something you’ll get used to in a hurry.

“Are you all right?”  Cole asks you immediately after the customer turns away from the counter, his eyes searching your face.

“Kind of?  Don’t worry.”  You assure him, forcing a smile, “Is Solas in the back?  I know he has a lot to do, but I really need to talk to him.”

“He is.  Getting things ready for shipping.”  Cole says, nodding his head, “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“Thanks, Cole.”  You say, giving a small nod of your head.

“You’re welcome!”  He calls after you, as you head over for the door.

You knock on it twice, and then open it a crack, shifting your bag to one arm as you peek inside.  You can’t see much, that shelf in the way, but there’s less boxes on it now.  Craning your head to the side, you peek between two of them into the office slash storage room.

“Solas?”  You ask, hesitating before actually stepping in.

You hear a faint laugh, ending in a sigh.  He sounds so relaxed you almost feel bad showing up like this with such a big problem.

“If you continue to not text me before stopping by, you can hardly chide me for doing the…”  Solas starts to reply, stepping around the end of the shelf to face you, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, glasses on top of his head.  He stops when his eyes meet yours, and he tilts his head to the side, “Is something the matter?”

“Is it that obvious?”  You ask, and then manage a smile of gratitude as he steps forward and gets the door the rest of the way for you, “Hi.  Sorry, I know you have a lot to do.”

“What is wrong?”  He asks succinctly, instead of answering your apology.

 

* * *

 

**_Just give him the letter from your bag to read._ **

Letting yourself be drawn in through the doorway, you unbuckle your bag again and sort through the envelopes.  Apparently sensing your tension, Solas doesn’t comment, just takes it from your hand when you offer it up to him.

The door closes behind you, and you follow him into the office area as his hand leaves your elbow to open the envelope.  He draws out the letter and sets down the envelope on his desk, but doesn’t open the letter immediately.

A little confused, you watch him hunt through the piles of paperwork and labels, glancing around yourself at the chaos.  Tidy chaos, everything neatly stacked, but boy, there sure isn’t a lot of room back here.  Not with all these additional boxes.  

It takes you a minute to figure out what he’s looking for, but finally you figure it out, giving a faint laugh despite your tension.

Solas glances at you, and you point to your forehead.

“You saw nothing.”  He informs  you, making you laugh again as he reaches up and takes his glasses off the top of his head, pulling them on.

Silently you wander over as he leans against the desk and unfolds the letter, loosening your grip on the bag.  He’s already frowning, but his free arm reaches for you when you move in close, and you lean against his side.  His hand rests against the small of your back, comfortingly.

He’s silent, for so long that you’re starting to feel uncomfortable.

“What help is he looking for?”  He asks simply, at last.

“The letter came with four invitations to Halamshiral.  Including travel and accommodations.”  You say, “We assume just…like the pictures.”

“Are you all right?”  He asks quietly.

 

* * *

 

**Stuck in unreality right now?  Everything’s bizarre.**

 

“Would you like to know what I think?”  He asks, giving a faint ‘hmm’ when you nod vigorously.

The arm around you tightens into a proper hug, and you lean in to return it, closing your eyes for a second.  It’s helpful, especially since your mind has been going a mile a minute for a couple hours now.  Especially since he’s so calm, it’s very soothing.  His sweater smells like dust right now, though.  You try not to sneeze on him.

“To be quite honest, I believe that attending would only escalate this situation.  It may be better if you simply forgot that you ever received this.”  He says.

“I can’t let Sera go alone.”  You protest, “And she is going to go.  She really wants to do this.”

“Did she receive anything herself?”  

“No, but…I already told her.”  You admit, and then add, “It is sort of a once in a lifetime opportunity, Solas.”

“With a great many strings attached.”  He points out, and you hear the rustle of the letter again, “As much as I would like for you to be dissuaded, I cannot lie and say I believe you are in any danger.”

“Well, you obviously don’t know Felassan as well as you thought.”  You point out, giving a faint laugh, “He just enjoys art…”

“In retrospect, poorly phrased.  It seems there are a great many things I should have known that I did not.”  Solas agrees, voice for a moment dark, and then sighs again, “Am I going to be able to convince you that this may be a terrible idea?”

 

* * *

 

**I’m already convinced that it is.  I’m still going.**

 

“That will keep you cautious.”  Solas says, though he doesn’t sound very happy about it, his voice more flatly neutral than calm, “Have you guaranteed the authenticity of it all?”

You may as well tell him what you’ve been up to.  As you explain, he releases you to put the letter back away, and then examine the other things as you pull them out.  It’s not a terribly long story, all told, but by the end you’re feeling a bit more on the ball.

You’ve been handling this all well, you think.  As well as anyone could be expected to, despite the minor freak-outs.

“I should not have been concerned you would be credulous, I apologize.”  Solas finally says, when you run out of story, turning over the invitation in his hand to examine the back of it.

“I may have a tendency to be a bit too much so.”  You admit, and then give an exasperated sigh through your nose, “I’m sorry for walking in and dumping this on your lap like this, I just value your opinion.  And I’m trying to _not_ be naive, not about this.”

“I was overdue for a break, I have been working since rather early.”  He replies, folding up the invitation and returning it to its envelope carefully, “Though admittedly this is slightly less pleasant than your intrusion yesterday.”

“Intrusion!”  You laugh, relaxing a little at his faint, sly smile, “I was invited to that nap, sir.”

“Consider it a standing invitation.”  He declares, and then sobers, smile disappearing, “And on that subject, if you are determined to go, what will you do?”

“What do you mean?”  You ask, accepting the closed invitation back from him, and turning it over.

“A plea is not a summonses.  You say you are determined to go, and I respect that, but the larger question is what will you do while you are there?”  He replies, voice mildly thoughtful, “We can both make the assumption, an assumption you are obviously meant to draw, that this is Fen’harel asking for your help.  I realize you consider his work important, and while what is being asked of you is…of minimal danger, it is not _without_ it.  You are also being handed a great deal of power.”

“Power?”  You ask dubiously, glancing up at him.

“Yes.  You are being given the power to determine what the public will see of whatever happens that night.”  He points out, voice calmly neutral again, “If you are indeed there to serve as witness to the world beyond the insular elite, you are the lens through which history will see it.”

 

* * *

 

**Then I should make sure people know the truth.  I don’t even know if he actually has anything to say, or if this is just petty vandalism, but people deserve to know either way.  History can do the judging, I’ll just make sure they have all the info.**

“Unfortunately, it isn’t always so simple, but…you are correct.”  Solas finally says after a few seconds of contemplative silence, “Sometimes the truth can be unkind, but it is far better than leaving people ignorant, or blindly accepting the world they see.”

“Some people won’t see it even if you slap them in the face with it.”  You point out, and then smile at his small chuckle, “Like you said, not so simple, but I can at least try.  Trying matters.”

“It does.”  He agrees with you, and then sighs, “Well, it sounds as if your mind is made up.”

“Until I find out how much a dress is going to cut into my budget.  And shoes.”  You agree, and then laugh, “Have to at least be able to fake fitting in.”

“You are attending with Sera, do you think that is possible?”  Solas asks, and then smiles faintly at the look you give him, “She isn’t terribly interested in fitting in.”

“Sera doesn’t fit in, she fits out.”  You say, and then grin when he raises an eyebrow.  “She does what she wants without thinking about how it looks, which means it usually works for her.”

“Hmh.  The appeal of an iconoclast.  I suppose I can see it.”  Solas replies, diplomatically.

 

* * *

 

**I realize it’s a bit soon, but if you can somehow find the time…it would mean a lot to me if you would come with.  Like I said, I really value your opinion, having you there would help.**

“I…”  He begins, and then pauses.  You wait a couple seconds, until he laughs faintly and meets your eyes, “I was about to ask for time to think, yet again.”

“Only have so much of it, but you’re more than welcome to what we can afford.”  You reply, lifting your shoulders in a small shrug, “I realize it’s a lot to ask.”

“It is a great deal to ask of _you_.”  He says, glancing down at the invitation in your hands.

You follow his gaze, leaning against his side again as you contemplate the envelope.  You guess that’s true, but on the other hand, you’ve been given plenty of outs.  And still, the unique opportunity of it all…and, well, the excitement is something that shouldn’t be ignored.

“I think the good outweighs the potential bad.”  You say at last, glancing up with a smile as his hand settles comfortably against your hip, “Really.  Take all the time you need.  You know, within reason.”

“No.  If you will indulge what is perhaps…a mildly inappropriate sentiment, I believe it would make me feel more comfortable with the idea if I agreed to go.”  Solas says, and then gives a  laugh under his breath again, shaking his head, “Honest, but perhaps a bit inappropriate, yes.  I apologize.”

 

* * *

 

 

**It’s only inappropriate if we both think it is.  And I don’t think it is, I’m glad you care.**

 

“You are, as always, very tolerant of my fumbling attempts to navigate this.”  Solas sighs, and then leans down.

You meet the kiss, warm and soft, leaning in as he lifts a hand to cradle your cheek.  Well, it’s soft for a second, but you get a little closer and things get a bit more…intense.  He has a way of kissing you that makes you lightheaded, desperately finding an outlet for all that impulsive passion he keeps accidentally letting out.  His hand stays gentle this time, but there’s tension in his fingers that you can feel against your skin, his other arm wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you in against his body.

When it breaks, it’s because you both need to breathe, foreheads bumping together as he breathlessly laughs.  You take a second to catch your breath, cheek still tilted into his palm.

“I…do have to work.”  He says, regretfully, “I only have until this evening to get these packages out, the office closes at five.”

“Sor…”  You start, and then wrinkle your nose as he taps his thumb against your lips.

“Not even remotely necessary.”  He murmurs.

 

* * *

 

 

**You’ve got dinner taken care of, right?  Especially if you’ve been here all day.**

Solas smiles, and turns his head slightly to kiss your cheek.  It’s a bit more intimate than that gesture usually would be, all wrapped up in each other, and with the way his lips linger before he pulls back.

“Thank you for being concerned about me.”  He replies, releasing you.

“That isn’t an answer.”  You accuse, smiling when he laughs, “Solas…”

“I will find something.”  He promises you, stepping back around the desk, “I can be somewhat…particular about what I eat.”

“So what you’re saying is I should pick you up a bag of dollar sliders.”  You say, grinning at the flat look he gives you, “Not in a burger mood?  How about those giant burritos?  They’re the size of babies, Solas.”

“Get out of my store.”  He orders you, fighting back a smile when you laugh again, “Are you going to see Sera?”

“I think so, unless her store is packed.”  You agree, navigating the field of boxes, nose wrinkling when you disturb some dust, “I think I needed some grounding before going to face her enthusiasm.”

“Good luck.” He says, without a trace of irony.

You reach the door, and he pulls it open for you, glancing over your shoulder to scan the door before glancing back down at you.

 

* * *

 

**Call me later?**

 

“It may be somewhat late,”  He warns, and then finishes when you nod, “But I will.”

“I understand.  You have work.”  You say, and then stop, suddenly worried, “Oh!  But what about the shop next weekend, I didn’t…”

“Let me worry about that. I said that I would join you, the logistics are my responsibility ”  He says when you trail off, leaning in to briefly kiss your forehead.

“All right.”  You agree, dropping it despite the worry, “I’ll talk to you later.”

 

Normally you’d stop and chat with Cole a little, but he’s actually quite busy.  Not that the store is fielding anything compared to the other shops, but there’s some people browsing books and things.  No matter what Solas says, it is nice to see them in the shop.

Next door, however, is another matter.

You’re clutching your bag again the instant you walk into the mess of teenagers and confused-looking parents, hugging it to your chest protectively.  The place is a mess, even with three people behind the counter.

Sera, amusingly, looks less annoyed and stressed than she usually does, like she’s feeding off of the chaos.  When she catches sight of you, she lifts both arms and shouts a hello over at you, drawing far too many people’s attention.

“There you are!  What took you so friggin’ long?”  She asks exuberantly.

 

* * *

 

**I was next door.  Would you like to know what I was doing, Sera?  Would you?**

“ _Euuugh!_ ”  Sera declares disgustedly, practically cackling.

“Do you?”  You repeat, barely hiding a grin, “Because I’m willing to…”

“Shut up.”  She demands, “Frigging disgustin’, you are.”

Somehow she’s still checking people out while yelling at you.  It’s beautiful to watch, like some sort of ballet or performance art.  No one has ever scanned clip on nose jewelry with such grace.  You realize Fenris is working, too, when you hear his very distinctive noise of world-weary scorn.

“Sera, I don’t understand what exactly is wrong.”  You say, pretending to be puzzled, “I thought you wanted to know.”

“Oh I know.”  She retorts, shaking her head violently, hair swinging, “I know.  You were shaggin’ an egg.”

You’re not sure what’s worse.  That it’s mean, or that it’s hilarious.

“Be nice.”  You protest, trying not to laugh so hard that the back of your sinuses hurts.

“Egg-shagger.”  Sera replies flatly.

 

* * *

 

**Well, I guess the yolk’s on me!**

Despite protestations of disgust, that has Sera laughing and cringing all at the same time.  You can’t help but be pleased with yourself.  It’s not often one gets to pull off a double pun-tandre.

You haven’t gotten off scot-free with the distraction, though, someone from the back of the store yells over at Sera, who rolls her eyes.

“Five minutes, yeah?  Almost done.”  She says aside to you, and then goes back to focusing on your work.

Without anything else to do, Fenris also being too busy to chat, you wander into the very tight aisles while clutching your bag.  The lava lamps are good for a gander, and they have an interesting selection of giant inflatable penises.  You never knew that one could have a selection of giant inflatable penises, yet here we are.

Getting jostled by teenagers eventually starts losing its appeal, and you duck your head down and forge your way out through the video game t-shirts to wait out front.  Whew.

_Deep breath._

Listening to your stomach growl, you watch the crowds and listen to the faint strains of holiday music, chin tucked against your bag.  You’re starting to almost daze off when your shoulder is abruptly jostled.

“Show me!”  Sera demands noisily, still in the middle of unbuttoning her work shirt.

 

* * *

 

**Hell no.  Come over to my place, I’m not pulling this stuff out in public!**

 

Sera  complains and fusses at you a bit, impatiently, but she finally gives in.  She knows where you live, so it’s not much trouble to just head home and let her make her way there behind you.  By now your stomach has gone from rumbly to out and out bitching, but you’ve got pre-made lunches in the fridge, and you did eat out one day this week, so there’s extra.

You make Sera read the letter first, before you give her the bag and let her sort through the rest, explaining the fruits of your afternoon’s hunt.  The hotel is real, the invitations are real as far as you can tell, and a quick jaunt to the airline’s website on her phone while you eat proves that the card is good.

She wants to buy tickets right then and there, but you’re not quite ready.

“We have four.”  You point out, stabbing another piece of chicken, scooping up some rice and beans.  “Solas is coming…”

Sera groans, glancing up from her fiftieth examination of the invitation with narrowed eyes.  “Really?” She asks exasperatedly.

“Yes, really.”  You retort, gesturing with your fork, “He’s smart, okay?  And I like having him around.  Besides, he can probably help make sure we don’t do anything unsafe.”

“Only you’d get a frigging once in a lifetime chance like this an’ worry about bein’ safe.”  Sera grouses, and then sighs, “Okay, then four?”

 

* * *

 

**I don’t know yet.  Do we need help, or should we just invite someone along to enjoy it?**

 

“Don’t know.  Good question.”  Sera says contemplatively, carefully putting the invitation back away, “Bit of a big thing to just hand someone, innit?”

“I mean, yes?  You’re right at that.  I guess it should be someone who won’t sabotage it, at least.”  You say, a little dubiously, “Do you know anyone that knows photography?”

“No.  Yes.  Maybe?”  Sera says, obviously thinking, fingers tapping rapidly on the counter, “Anders’d help.  Specially if you pushed the cussin’ the system bits.”

“Dorian’s really smart…”  You say, lips pursing together, “He really helped me with the invitation stuff.”

“Yeah, but we need people who want to smash it up, don’t we?  Ready to fuck it up.”  Sera says, slamming both elbows on the counter, “People who want to…wait!”

“What?”  You ask, uncertainly.

“Hawke.”  Sera says, simply.

 

* * *

 

**That sounds like a recipe for disaster, and I don’t even know Hawke that well**

“Kind of the point.”  Sera says, a bit gleefully, “Fuck ‘em over good, right?”

Right.  Well, it isn’t a surprise that you two have…different ideas about how this should go.  Or will.  Maybe it’s not such a surprise that Felassan handed the information to you.

Do you really want to take a heavy hand, though?  She might be a bit too enthusiastic, but she isn’t necessarily wrong.

“We’re there to witness it, Sera.”  You say, doing your best not to sound judgmental, “To…I don’t know, make sure people see it, not to ‘fuck things up’.”

“Can do both!”  She declares, a bit belligerently, “This is a big friggin’ deal!”

You sigh, dropping your fork on your plate, trying to gather your thoughts.  This is big, and dedicated to it or not, you don’t know nearly enough to go running headfirst into it tearing things down.  

Bending down briefly, you scoop up Atisha as she cries at you and tries to climb up your pants, tucking her under your chin and scratching her ears as you think.  She immediately starts purring, a rumbly vibration that you can feel in your fingers.

 

* * *

 

**No, we can’t do both.  We focus on one thing, Sera, and we do it right.  We make sure none of this gets buried or destroyed.  Not this time.**

Sera is silent for a few seconds, staring at you curiously.  You return the look, still scritching the happy calico kitten.

“What?”  You finally ask, just a little awkwardly, “I just think that…we have a chance to do something here, Sera.  We just can’t waste it, you know?”

“No, I…”  She says, and then laughs, nodding slowly, “Y’right.  The whole friggin’ problem, innit?  Nothing there, nothing to tell us what truth is.  Shit’s gone, it’s just…”

“Gone.”  You finish, and then sigh, letting Ati down, crouching down for a second so she can go to find and attack her brother, “You don’t have to prove yourself, you know.  Not to me, not to…him.  If there even is a him.  He only seems perfect because he’s not real, you know.”

“Shut up.”  She replies, a bit weakly.

“I just mean that the idea of a person…well, that’s not a person.  Making an idea of a person’s always going to disappoint you, Sera.”  You say, apologetically, “If there is a him…”

“I’m not stupid.”  She tells you, lifting a hand to rake back her hair, “I think about it, y’know.  Why they gotta drag you?  Why all…this?  Why lies an’ games?”

 

* * *

 

**I just don’t know, but I’m gonna find out.**

 

“Yeah, that’ll work.”  Sera says, a little sarcastically, “Walk up to ‘im, ‘scuse me, what the frigging hell?’.”

“Yep,”  You say, “maybe that’s what I’m going to do.”

“I don’…”  Sera starts dubiously, and then frowns and falls silent.

You watch her for a couple seconds, finally speaking up again when it seems like she’s not going to say anything more.

“Who said we were on his side, Sera?”  You ask her, smile widening as she looks back up at you, “Who said we have to be?”

“No one.  Sort of.”  Sera replies, some of her frown disappearing.

“Exactly.  We’re not going there to kiss his ass, Sera.”  You say, nodding her head as she grins, abruptly, “We’re not going there to wander around like wide-eyed idiots, oohing and aahing.”

“Fuck that.”  Sera replies, a little bit belligerently, “S’what they expect, innit?”

“We haven’t proven otherwise.”  You say, and then shrug a little, “But going in there expecting that he’s the good guy, and everyone else is the bad guy…well, it’s not that simple, is it?”

“Got to have a side,though.  Not his, not theirs, but there got to be one.”  Sera says, a bit uncertainly, “Otherwise what’s the point?”

 

* * *

 

**Keeping your mind open and not being blind isn’t working against him.  Unless it is…in which case, is his a side worth being on?**

“No.  Guess not.”  Sera says, and then sighs exasperatedly at you, “Why you gotta make it all complicated?  We fight the bad guys.”

“Because it is that complicated.  Sorry, Ser.”  You say, grinning as she sighs again and thumps her head on the counter.  “I’m your designated buzzkill.”

“Yeah.”  Sera agrees flatly, scoffing when it only makes you laugh, “Pain in my arse, you are.”

“Somebody’s got to do it!”  You agree cheerfully, and then step back when she swats blindly at you.  “Well, don’t fight _me!_ ”

“All right, if you gotta be annoyingly sensible, I guess you might as well figure out who we’re taking.”  Sera says, raising her head with an exasperated look, “Not saying you’re right, right?  Just saying…you’re in charge of logistics or whatever.  I’m…what’s the word.”

“Delegating?”  You ask, and then smile when she nods, “Okay.  Fair enough, delegate away.  You’re going to need a dress, you know.”

“Get out.”  Sera says sourly, “What, all ruffles?”

“Or spangles.”  You agree, and then laugh as she frowns even deeper, “Just nothing too frilly, or we won’t be able to move if we need to.”

“Oh yeah, because that’s th’problem.  I love ruffles too friggin’ much.”  Sera says, rolling her eyes.

“I’ve got faith in you.  You have style.”  You tell her, confidently, “You could probably show up in a garbage sack and make people buy it.”

“Garbage sack, eh…”  Sera says musingly.

 

* * *

 

**Great, now in six month everyone in Orlais is going to be wearing garbage bags.**

That gets Sera cackling, which is relieving.  Nobody enjoys being a buzzkill, of course.  Sensible is a nicer way to say it, but she does keep getting excited and then you pull the rug out from under her.  Obviously not that much, though, because you’re still going to Orlais.

You didn’t expect her to hand off picking the fourth person to you, but it’s nice that she did.  It means she trusts you, even though she doesn’t get along with Solas.  It’s something you’re going to have to think long and hard about.

Later, though.

You spend an hour or two chatting and bullshitting until she has to go meet some people.  You’re invited, but you decline this time considering the day you’ve had and plans you’ve made, promising her you’ll go out soon.  Luckily, she doesn’t seem to mind.  It seems like she’s starting to accept that you’re doing your own things sometimes, not just tagging along with her.

If the shop’s closing again at ten, you probably have a while before Solas finds the time to call you.  It’s been a very draining, exciting day, and some downtime is probably deserved.

 

* * *

 

**Long bath.  Whole nine yards.  All the scrubbing and face junk and some music. & We should get some writing done.  **

 

You are smart.  Grocery staples shopping provides some ingredients for easy body care stuff, especially with the internet to give you some recipes.  You toss together a couple different masks and a quick scrub, grab all your favorite bath things, and settle in for a long soak.

The cats, who have yet to see a proper bath, wander in to check things out, Fen sticking his face into your oatmeal and honey mush, and regretting it.  Atisha just does her usual thing and cries at you, demanding to be picked up.  

Baby doesn’t know what she’s asking for.

You reach down to offer her a drippy hand, and she starts rubbing her face on it until she realizes you’re wet.  Utterly offended, she sneezes on you, and then zooms out of the bathroom to attack her brother as if it was his fault.

She’ll forgive you eventually.

You soak and try to help your skin recover from the winter, until the water starts to get uncomfortably cool.  Feeling much better for it, you drain the water and get into some pajamas before you settle in to write.

It’s hard to think about something besides what’s been going on today, but eventually you start to relax.  Relaxing and being productive at the same time is a good combination, if tricky to manage.

You’ve almost lost track of time when your phone rings, and you glance at the clock on your computer.  Quarter after ten.  Well, who else could it be?

You answer the phone, and bring it to your ear.

“Good evening.”  You greet, shifting your phone so you can save your work.

“Ah, you survived.”  Solas replies in your ear, warm and amused, “I had wondered.”

 

* * *

 

**And you have, too!  Look at us, fulfilling the basic requirements for staying alive.  Go us.**

Solas laughs quietly, bringing a smile to your lips.  It’s a pretty nice laugh, especially when it ends and he breathes in.  Okay, was that a snort?  You’re not sure if that’s adorable, or nerdy.  Or both.

“This close to the holiday, that may be a feat in and of itself.”  He tells you, and you hear a faint, steady click that makes you think he might be driving.

That does sound like a turn signal.

“Are you breaking the law, sir?”  You ask him playfully, and he laughs again, “I’m not going to put up with you endangering your life just to talk to me.”

“I am wearing an earpiece, both of my hands are on the wheel.”  He promises you, “I did say late, but I know that you work tomorrow.”

“Not until two.  Don’t worry about me, you’re the one working around the clock.”  

“Except when I am napping.”  He reminds you, a smile in his voice, “Though today, sadly, that was not an option.”

“Well, there’s always tomorrow.”  You say, glancing down as the kitten in your lap starts uncurling, Ati showing her little fangs as she stretches and yawns, “What are your plans for the rest of the week?”

“Work, for the most part.”  Solas says, thoughtfully, “Especially considering that I need to arrange some things for next week.”

 

* * *

 

**Do you want to have a late dinner with me tomorrow?  I don’t have long breaks, but it’s something.**

 

“I believe I could manage that, yes.”  Solas agrees, after a thoughtful pause, “As long as you had no plans to try and brave the food court.”

“Ick, no.”  You say, giving a laugh, “It’d take half my break just to get food.  I’ve been cooking for myself, mostly.  I’d offer to cook for you, too, but you said you’re choosy, and I don’t want to make something you’d feel obliged to eat.”

Solas gives a low, thoughtful ‘hmm’ against your ear.  It’s warm, and almost intimate, though you have a feeling he didn’t mean to go putting butterflies in your stomach.

“I do try to ensure people don’t feel obliged to bow to my…preferences.”  He says, and then gives a sigh, “There is little worse than attending a dinner where absolutely nothing looks edible, and being required to force yourself to eat for the sake of politeness.”

 

* * *

 

**Well, I sure hope you don’t think I look inedible, then.**

You hear a sudden cough, more of a sputter, followed by a rough clearing of his throat.  Cheeks warm, you grin, lower lip caught in your teeth as you wait.  It takes a second, you hear him sigh, and then clear his throat again, more gently.

“I am _driving_.”  He reminds you, voice a little lower.

“I’m just making conversation.”  You say, as innocently as you can muster.

He’s quiet again, so long that you’re starting to worry that you actually have offended him.  

“Making conversation,”  He finally muses,  “is that what you call that?”

“It’s a valid concern, you know.”  You point out, “I’d hate to think that I do nothing to whet your appetite.”

It’s not just a flirt, it’s also something it’d be nice to know.  Not that the way he kisses you hasn’t given you a clue, but for the most part, his hands are remarkably well behaved.  The topic hasn’t come up before.

Even though you’re going on vacation together.

When he speaks again, though, you’re not feeling uncertain any more.  In the quiet of your apartment, his voice is enfolding, a seductive murmur of sound that makes your stomach twist up.

“I assure you, when it comes to you, lack of appetite is the very _least_ of my problems.”

 

* * *

 

**Prove it.**

The words should probably be challenging, confident, but they escape you at just short of a laugh.  You hear him exhale, heavily, immediately afterwards.  When he speaks again, surprisingly, his voice is a little strangled, rough.

“Stop.”  He demands.

“I’m,..”  You say, confused, “I’m sorry, did I…”

“I am _driving_.”  He repeats, this time with a little bit more emphasis.

Well, you already knew that, it’s not like… _oh._

You weren’t aware that you were _that_ much of a distraction.  Or that he was that into it.  Being that you rather like him in one piece, you clam up for a few seconds, torn between pleasure and worry.

“I’m sorry.”  You finally apologize, not feeling completely so.

“No.  It is hardly your fault that I…”  He says, pausing for a few seconds, before he finishes with a clear of his throat, “I enjoy your assertiveness, just perhaps not the venue.”

“Are you almost home?”  

“Only a few blocks.”  He promises quietly.

You both fall silent, contemplatively.  For some reason you just don’t feel like ruining the mood with random chatter, and you don’t want to push him.  It’s nice to just listen to him, the faint sounds from in his car as they filter through the headset.  You’ve tucked your cheek atop a knee when you hear the jingle of his keys, and then a door slam.

“How far up do you live?”  You ask, curiously.

“I have a house, if you can believe it in this city.  Took me some years to get it livable, but I enjoyed the work.”  He tells you, voice still not quite sounding comfortable, “It was fairly derelict when I purchased it.”

“Hmmh.”  You say, listening distantly to various noises, “Yes, that sounds like you.”

“You know me so well, do you?” .

“Well enough for that.”  You say, musing over his earlier words.

Assertive, was that what he said he was enjoying?  Not for the first time, you’re aware that it almost feels like you’re capable of completely destroying his self-control on a whim.  It’s kind of scary, but…

Exciting.

 

* * *

 

**Are you heading to bed now?  Can I come?**

 

The sounds in the background are so muffled you’re not quite sure what he’s doing.  Getting out of his coat and things, you assume, nothing interrupting the conversation, his voice close and warm.

“It is late.”  He says, a bit more relaxed now, “As for the other question, I suppose it remains to be seen.”

“Naughty…”  You tease, and then laugh when he chuckles quietly in your ear, “Here I was hoping I could get a standing invitation.”

“I would be happy to extend one, though you would have to choose.  You cannot have both.”

“Both of what?”  You ask, momentarily confused as you apparently lose track of the conversation.

“Standing, and the bed.”  He replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice, just a bit sly, “It has to be one or the other.”

Oh.  Hah.

Biting down on your lower lip, you grin, cheeks starting to feel a little bit hot.

“Or one and then the other.”  You point out, quietly, “But I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

“There are…advantages to both.”  He says, thoughtfully drawing out the words, a quiet murmur in your ear.

 

Well, you do love a good debate.

 

When everything has been thoroughly…considered, topics put to bed, so on and so forth, much to your pleasure, things don’t get awkward.  You were a little worried, considering how things went before, but he doesn’t seem likely to go looking for distance from you again.  Instead, you curl up in bed and have a bit of silly, affectionate back and forth before it becomes obvious he’s practically falling asleep.

You say good night, and then try to fall asleep yourself.

 

 

## END OF DAY 11

 

 


	12. Saturday, the 10th of Umbralis

“And you’re sure you don’t want me to make you one?  I promise it’ll be tasteful.”  You cajole, grabbing your bag out of the passenger side of your car, looping it over your wrist.

“While I trust your aesthetic sense, I simply hadn’t planned on wearing a mask.”  Solas replies, sounding somewhat distractedly distant, “You aren’t expecting color coordination, are you?”

“I don’t know what I’m wearing yet.”  You say, wincing slightly.

It’s been sort of a disaster.  Trying to make your budget work, trying to figure out a way not to stand out like a poor sore thumb at the ridiculous rich people party without blowing money you don’t have.  

Managing your bag, phone, and keys, you fumble your way out of the car, closing it behind you with your hip.  The morning sunshine is bright enough that it’s glaring off the snow, almost blinding you as you head up to the sidewalk, and then down towards the Hawkes’ house.

“When do you work today?”  He asks, still sounding completely distracted.

“Normally noon, but two today again, Sera agreed to cover a couple hours for me so I don’t have to be rude and duck out too early.”

“That is kind of her.  Are you there, then?  Would you tell Malcolm…”

“You say hi.  I got it.”  You reply, with a grin, “Stop reading while you’re talking to me on the phone.  You are so _rude._ ”

“It is called multitasking.”  Solas corrects you, and then chuckles when you laugh, “Work, not pleasure, I promise you.  I will let you go, then.”

 

* * *

 

**I’ll pop by after work.**

“I am by myself after six, so the company will be welcome.  As will the slight reprieve from speaking to idiots.”

“The phrase is ‘the customer is always right’, Solas, not ‘the customer is always an idiot’.”  You tell him, turning up the walk.

“Only one of those statements is true.”  He replies dourly, voice lightening when you laugh, “I will see you then.”

“See you later.”  You say, and then tuck your phone into your pocket after hanging up.

This is a little intimidating, you have to admit.  Not that you’re nervous around Hawke, or the twins, but meeting their mom and dad is a bit…

Steeling yourself, you knock on the door once.  That’s all you have time for, because it’s immediately flung open wide by someone who looks rather disappointed to see you.

Well, that’s not very nice.

“Hi, Carver.  What did I do to deserve that frown?”  You ask, trying not to let it bother you.

“He was expecting someone else.”  You hear Bethany call from behind them, just a little teasingly, “Weren’t you?”

“Not you, too…”  Carver gripes at her, and then sighs and forces a smile for you, “Thank you so much for joining us.”  He says, mockingly over-polite.

“How many people are coming?  I thought it was a family party…”  You say, letting Bethany tug you in past Carver, “Your greeting needs work, you know.”

“It is family.  Just…you know.  Family and then extra family.  Hawke tends to do that.  Mother was in a bit of a fit about it.”  Bethany tells you, linking her arm in yours, “But she’s gotten used to it.”

* * *

 

**Can you introduce me to your mom and dad?  I should thank them for having me over.**

“Of course!”  Bethany says cheerfully, dragging you on out of the entry, once you manage to kick off your shoes.

“How many people are you expecting?”  You ask curiously, already able to hear Hawke off somewhere in the house, voice loud enough to pick out, even if incomprehensible.

“Oh, I don’t know.  Six besides us?  Not that many.” 

“Well, I suppose that isn’t so bad…”  You muse, following her into what you remember is the kitchen.

It hits you the instant you wander in, the smell of sugar and things baking.  There’s a thin elven woman with blonde hair in front of the stove, next to a woman with short gray hair and a thoughtful expression.  You’ve seen the family pictures, and you’re certain that her and the man sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and an amused expression would be the Hawkes.

“…need to find a way to set aside three dozen cookies or so, or they will disappear, and I have that gathering tomorrow.”  Leandra is saying, looking a bit flustered, “And the cake.  I did mention the cake, didn’t I?”

“Yes, dear, you mentioned the cake.”  Malcolm calls over, barely hiding a chuckle, “Leave Orana be, she knows what she’s doing,  Have a cup of coffee.”

“Please don’t worry, Mrs. Hawke.”  The blonde woman says, in a quiet, high voice.

“Mother, it’s a party!”  Bethany says, laughter in her voice, and suddenly all eyes are on you.  

“Yes, dear, and they require work to run smoothly.”  Leandra says, before her attention turns back to you.

* * *

 

**_Introduce yourself politely._ **

You handshake all around, compliment their home, thank them for having you.  You know, all the things you need to do to ensure Leandra relaxes a little.  Having met Hawke’s friends, well, you understand a little bit.  Not in a bad way, but certainly in a chaotic way.

Despite Leandra seeming to be a bit flustered, you still end up with a cup of coffee in less than a minute flat.

“Solas wanted me to pass along a hello to you.”  You add to Malcolm, accepting a cookie as well as Leandra passes it to you, before disappearing into the dining room.

Ooh, it has frosting and those little silver ball sprinkles.  Nice.

“Well, there’s a surprise!”  Malcolm says, seeming pleased, “How’s the old man doing?  We haven’t spoken in months, I should go by and see if he has any interesting books.”

“Not pleased with the holiday crowds, I think, but he’s doing well.”  You reply, smiling faintly.

“Good to hear!  It’s funny how people can drop off the map over the years.”  Malcolm says, and then glances over to Bethany, “Poppy, did you extend any invitations for next week?”

“No, I hadn’t yet.”  Bethany says, glancing over to you, “I didn’t know if you had plans, sorry.  Sera said you might be going out of town?  I thought you might be going to visit your family.”

* * *

 

**Yes, going to be out of town.  Sorry!**

“It’s nice that you get a chance to.”  Bethany says cheerfully, “I can’t even tell you what a mess our schedule is around the holidays.”

“Why people think Freddy Fennic’s is a good holiday destination, I don’t know.”  You say, and then add teasingly, “Do they make you decorate your horns?”

“No.  Do you think I should?”  Bethany asks, grabbing a cookie for herself and then nudging you out of the kitchen.  “I think they have little battery pack powered lights you can buy. ”

You both briefly say goodbye to her father, who goes back to his coffee and book, and then you trail after her, back down the hall.

“Maybe?  But do you want to be adding more weight to that thing?”  You ask her, taking a sip of your coffee.

It’s really good coffee, actually.  Far better than the stuff you make at home.

“No.  Not at all.”  Bethany declares with a small wrinkle of her nose, “That suit is awful, actually.  They all are.  Heavy, and…uncleanable.  We have a spray, but…”

“Ew.”  You finish for her.

“Yes.  To put it lightly.”  Bethany agrees, heading into the living room.

Despite hearing them earlier, you don’t see Hawke at first.  Actually, there’s no one in here, just plastic bins stacked up, each one labeled neatly with whatever mask decoration things they contain.  As your eyes scan the room, you realize there’s a couple people outside, seen past the railing of the deck in the back yard.  

“They’re going to be freezing.”  Bethany declares, as someone gets hit on the back of the head with a snowball.  “Do you mind helping me go through these a little?  They haven’t been touched since last year.”

“Sure, of course.”  You say.

* * *

 

**You know, I’ve been trying to shop for a holiday outfit, and I have had _no_ luck.**

You take a box labeled ‘fabric’ as Bethany passes it to you, and obediently open it after setting your things aside on a coffee table, using your bag as a napkin for the cookie.  The contents are not a surprise, but the sheer variety of what it contains is.

“We should pick out the things people will want to use.”  Bethany instructs, pulling down a box for herself, “What sort of holiday outfit?  There’s some very cute sweaters on sale.”

“I need a dress, actually.  A nice one, but not one where…”  You pause, trying to figure out a good way to say it, “Where I wouldn’t stand out?  Maybe…or look out of place.  No matter where I ended up going.”

“You mean something classic?”  Bethany asks, much to your relief.

“Yes, that’s what I meant.  Classic is good.  But definitely a dress.”  You say, decisively, “It has to be formal.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?  Things are always made so cheaply these days, it feels like you have to pay too much if you want something that will last.”  Bethany says, “That’s why I always go raid mother’s closet.”

“She lets you?”  You ask, picking out a yard or so of spangly silver fabric.

“Mother’s family used to be a bit more…money, I suppose.  She ran away with father, actually, eloped.”  Bethany says, giving a small sigh, “When they passed, it turned out they left everything to her…it was a bit sad, and a bit of a story in and of itself.  My grandmother had kept all of mother’s old things.  I don’t think she wants to wear them herself, memories and all, but she doesn’t want to get rid of them, either.  It’s a shame, they’re really quite lovely.  Except for the ones with the…big sleeves, you know.”

“It’s nice that she doesn’t mind you using them.”  You say, digging into the bin a bit deeper.

“It makes her happy, even if it’s a little bit…melancholy, I think.”  Bethany says thoughtfully, and then shakes her head, “What sort of party are you going to?  Is it back in your hometown?”

* * *

 

**Just…a party.  There’s going to be some richer people there.  I just don’t want to look like I don’t belong.**

“I suppose I can see how that would be a problem…”  Bethany says, uncertainly, “There’s always dress rental?  There are places online where you can rent designer gowns.  I would be terrified of ruining something, of course.”

“That does sound a bit nerve wracking.”  You agree, “But I guess it’s an option.  How much do those cost, I wonder?”

“You know, I don’t know.”  Bethany says, digging into her lap full of spangles, eventually coming up with her phone.

You unload some more of the fabric as she taps away at her phone,  setting aside some rather violently vibrant pieces that look like they could be thirty years old or more.  This bin of fabric is kind of fun to explore.

“Three hundred plus?”  Bethany finally says.

“I…yikes.  Really?”  You ask, and then sigh, heavily, “Maybe I should just find the plainest black dress possible and hope it works.”

“Probably a bit short notice to find a sample sale…I could ask mother if you could borrow something of hers, if you like.”  Bethany invites, “It’s vintage, at least.  Some of it’s designer, though most of it’s bespoke.”

* * *

 

**Would your mom really be okay with that?  I did only just meet her.**

“Probably?”  Bethany says, “Honestly, I’ve never asked before.  She’s happy when I borrow them.”

“I could offer to get it cleaned and everything, but I guess I don’t even know if you can do that with vintage dresses.”  You say, and then give a laugh, “That is, if anything will even fit me.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will.  They’re not much use if they’re just sitting in a closet, are they?”  Bethany says, cheerfully, “And not all of it is hers, some of it’s her mothers, and some even older…they never threw anything away, she said.  Luckily we got everything back before uncle sold…”

Abruptly Bethany trails off, glancing up from her phone, cheeks flushing a little.  “Can you forget I said that?  Sorry, that’s…I said a little too much.”  

“Done.”  You promise, and she gives you a warm smile.

“Thank you.  Anyways, I’m happy to ask her for you.”  Bethany promises, “Just not until she’s had a glass of wine and relaxes.  Right now she’s a bit running all over.”

“Well, we’ve got plenty to do.”  You say, setting aside the bin, and gathering up the fabric you picked out of it, “What sort of mask are you going to make?”

You spend some more time going through the bins, until you’re left with piles and piles of every sort of decorative bits and bobs imaginable.  You probably could have saved yourself some money by skipping the craft store, but on the other hand, you know you have exactly what you need now.

By the time you both have done all the work, people are coming inside, bringing with them the smell of snow…and a lot of noise.  It makes things pleasantly festive in no time flat, feeling more like a party.

Carver shouts for Bethany across the house, and she pops up, promising you she’ll be back soon.

* * *

 

**Let’s check our messages while we have a quiet minute.  It’s going to be busy soon.**

Sipping at your neglected coffee, you fish out your phone and glance at it.  A couple messages from Sera, mostly just bitching about work.  Yesterday she was trying to convince you one of her internet buddies should come to Halamshiral.  Today she seems to think it’s a good idea to invite Zevran.

You know you have to invite someone soon, and Dorian’s already told you there’s no way in hell he’s going, so that’s out.

Someone who can help be a buffer between Sera and Solas would probably be a good idea, but more than that…someone you can trust.  You’re still not sure.  It’s a ridiculously big decision.

There aren’t a ton of people on that list.  Merrill, Zev, Bethany and Carver, of course.  Fenris, maybe, or Dagna?   Well, and Cole, but you can’t imagine trying to make him go to a party like that, he’d be miserable.  You could always ask, though.

…You could ask Isabela?

Somehow, that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.

You text Sera back something non-committal, and then check your daily iguana update from Cole.  Important stuff.  

“It looks as if a disco ball exploded in here.”  You hear a voice say dryly from the hallway.

Glancing up with a smile, you meet Fenris’ eyes.  He looks like he got the worst of it outside, his hair is slicked down, wet, and his cheeks are a bit red.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t going to put sparkles on your mask, Fenris.”  You tease him.

“I never make one.”  He says, lifting his glass and taking a drink.

Red wine at eleven in the morning?  Well, it is a party.

* * *

 

**More sparkles for the rest of us!**

“You are more than welcome to them.”  Fenris says, lifting his glass to you.

You lift your coffee in return, and then take a sip from it.  You sit in companionable silence for a minute (well, he stands), until he abruptly clears his throat, drawing your attention.

“I was wondering if I could ask you a question.”  He says, almost stiltedly formal.

You’ve never really seen him be uncomfortable before.  You watch him shift his weight from foot to foot, before abruptly blinking, shaking your head.

“Sure.  Of course.  Is something wrong?”

“I couldn’t say.  No.  I meant to…”  He stops, staring down into his glass.

“Is there…”

“I was wondering if you could look at something for me.”  He interrupts you, glancing back up again, “If it is not too much of an imposition.”

“I don’t know.  It depends on what it is?”  You reply, confused, “If it’s a sixth toe or something, well, I’m not a doctor.”

“What?  No.  I meant,”  He clears his throat, and continues, “something written.  That I’ve…written.  You have said that you write, and I have never shown anyone…I would like to know if I am wasting my time.”

* * *

 

**Of course.  I would love to.**

 He seems relieved, and maybe a little bit less tense now.  Fenris doesn’t seem to interrupt you on purpose, though he didn’t notice he did it.  It’s not bothersome enough to point out.

“Thank you.  I’m certain it will probably seem somewhat…amaturish, but I do not have many people who I feel would be…”  There he pauses, and then grimaces and admits, “I suppose I could ask Varric, but he does it for a living.  It isn’t that I do not trust him…”

“Maybe you need someone a little more amaturish themselves to read it first?”  You ask.

“Perhaps.”  He agrees, and then shares a smile with you, “Thank you for not being offended.”

“I figure if you wanted me to be offended, you’d try.”  You tell him, not hiding your grin, “I bet you can insult with the best of them.”

“I have been known to cut a man down to size, should the situation call for it.”  He agrees, lifting his glass of wine, “Sera says you’re going out of town next week?”

Oh, right.  They work together.

* * *

 

**Yeah.  Sera _and_ Solas.  I’m just hoping they don’t snark each other to death.**

“You’re brave.”  Fenris compliments, and then adds dryly, “Or extremely foolish.”

“I’m thinking maybe both.”  You say, with a laugh.

“Did Sera tell you about the time she snuck live ladybugs into his mail disguised as an express package?”  Fenris asks you, cracking a small, sly smile.

“No.  Really?”

“Really.  They were everywhere.  Fifteen hundred of them, I believe she said.”  He says, shaking his head slightly, “Meredith was incensed.  It wasn’t as if they stayed in the store, they ended up everywhere.  He never did give away who it was, even though Meredith badgered him for ages.”

“I can’t believe she hasn’t told me that story.  Or him, for that matter.”  You muse, and then laugh quietly, “I can imagine it, though.”

“Imagine what?”  

Fenris glances over his shoulder as Bethany pops into view around the corner, and you lift a hand in greeting.  She returns it, and then glances between you curiously.

“Solas covered in ladybugs.”  Fenris informs her, and she laughs.

“Oh!  I remember that!”  Bethany says, eyes crinkling at the corners, “That was when I met Sera, I think, because you told Hawke about it, and…”

“Hawke insisted upon meeting Sera.”  Fenris agreed, dryly, “Kindred spirits of a sort.”

“Something like that.”  Bethany says, and then turns her attention to you, “Mother says it’s all right if you borrow a dress.  She sighed, very heavily, and said ‘at least someone will be appreciating them’.  I think she’s a bit put out I’m not interested in one of those…society ball things.  She’s been trying for ages.”

* * *

 

******Your mom should get with the times!  Make Carver have one.  He can wear a tiara.**

 

You make both of them laugh, which is always a nice feeling.  Good to know Fenris appreciates a dumb joke, too.  Then again, he is Hawke’s friend.  Bethany promises to take you to look at the dresses after lunch, which has the added benefit of getting both of you out of the traditional ‘being ordered around by Leandra to put up decorations’.

You settle in to get working on your mask, with Fenris continuing to fend off you and Bethany’s attempts to get him to make one.  He doesn’t leave, though, which makes you think he’s still enjoying himself.  

Since you already have a clear idea in mind, you don’t have to fuss too much, but make sure it’s as perfect as possible.  No bubbles in the fabric, no stray bits of thread or a piece out of place.  You want it to look nice.  Professionally nice, if at all possible.

Everyone else trickles in, in various states of damp or flustered, in the case of Leandra.  It’s the group you were expecting, and everyone’s happy to see you, even Anders, which is nice.  You’re glad you took the time to talk to him, because he’s not acting strangely at all now.

It might have been a little awkward otherwise.

Merrill seems to have been the loser of the snowball battle, because she’s a bit late to join, entering in what must be some of Hawke’s spare clothes.  They’re practically swallowing her, and her hair is slicked back, drenched, but it’d take more than that to ruin her good spirits.

It’s a nice group.  Homey, but a bit chaotic and noisy.  You’re glad you came.

 

Eventually you’re forced to leave your mask to dry, and everyone’s hustled off to lunch.  You’re a bit surprised, but even Hawke manages to settle down for the meal.  It’s obvious a lot of care went into it- it’s a bit on the fancy side.

At first it’s just a touch intimidating, until Isabela catches you looking over the wide array of silverware uncertainly, and flashes you a wink from across the table.  You feel yourself relax a little.

You navigated more difficult things.

“I never know which spoon is which.”  Merrill announces from your left when soup is delivered to the table, “It’s not the little tiny one, is it?”

“No, that’s the earwax spoon.”  Hawke says seriously, picking up the one next to it, “This one’s for the soup, Merrill.”

“Oh, yes.  Thank you.”  Merrill says happily, picking up hers.

“The small one is the _tea_ spoon.”  Leandra interjects in a long-suffering voice.

“For you, maybe, but I…”  Hawke says with a grin, stopping at the warning look from their father, “What?”

“Don’t torment your mother.  You have the rest of the day to do that.”  Malcolm replies, barely hiding a smile.

Leandra just sighs.

* * *

 

**You might as well ask if you don’t know what to use.  No one minded Merrill asking.**

You decide not to be embarrassed about your ignorance.  After all, when would you have a reason to learn these things before today?  Then again, did you ever expect you’d need to know florigraphy, or about street art?  It’s fun to pick up new information.  

Even if you’re not sure if you’ll ever use it.

Nobody seems to mind when you can’t tell your fish fork and your salad fork apart.  Actually, Leandra seems more pleased than annoyed that you’ve had to ask.  You assume she just likes people humoring her.  

Varric shows up belatedly about halfway through the meal, which only ruffles things a little.  The conversation immediately picks up, and by the time coffee and dessert come, Malcolm, Hawke, and Varric are arguing rather animatedly about business.  Leandra seems to have given up.

You’re watching Carver awkwardly try to flirt with an oblivious Merrill when Bethany nudges your shoulder.

“You have to work, don’t you?  Did you want to go look at the dresses now?”  

You glance down at your phone, slipping it out of your pocket.  Oh, yikes, yeah.  You’re going to have to get moving soon.  You could come back later to look, you suppose, or try to do it now.

* * *

 

**Should we ask your mom to come with?  I think she’d enjoy it.**

It’s nice to ask, you assume, since she is offering to let you borrow a dress.  Luckily, both Bethany and Leandra are pleased by the idea, and fairly quickly you find yourself being chivied downstairs.  

“In a few years if I want to keep things, I will have to get some sort of temperature controlled closet.”  Leandra declares, flicking on a light as you reach the bottom of the stairs.

The basement is finished and fairly nice, the area you’re in mostly full of bookshelves and covered furniture.  

“I’m sure you could find someone to buy them, mother, if you feel as if it’s too much trouble.”  Bethany says, and then smiles at the faint sigh, “Or we could just pack them away carefully.”

“That would probably be for the best.”  Leandra says, and then shakes her head, “I always wonder what I’m keeping them for, but at least they’re appreciated now and again.”

“I’ll be very careful.”  You promise her, and she gives you a faint smile, “I really wasn’t expecting to have to go to a party this fancy, so I’ve been caught a bit flat-footed.”

“A good fit is worth more than a label.”  Leandra says, pulling open a long, sliding door as you approach a large closet tucked between two heavy bookcases, “You seem as if you might be about my size from when I was younger.”

The closet’s full of…well, you were expecting gowns, but everything’s packed up in long garment bags, or sealed up on the shelf above, everything carefully labeled.  A bit less dramatic, but probably more sensible.

“What about that dress I wore last spring?”  Bethany suggests.

“No, I don’t think so.”  Leandra says, after a glance at you, eyes critical, “I think I may have something, however…”

* * *

 

**Leandra knows what she’s doing, they’re hers.  I bet she knows exactly what would look good.**

“Velvet and taffeta are a bit out of style, aren’t they?”  Leandra asks, and then smiles faintly when Bethany sighs.

“You know they are.”  Bethany accuses, and then laughs, “As are those huge sleeves, mother.”

“Most of those dresses I bought for myself.”  Leandra says, carefully sorting through the hangers, pulling one down, “My mother didn’t approve, but I wasn’t going to wear floor-length, full skirted thing with trains and beaded bodices to school dances and out with my friends.  I’d look horribly out of date.”

“Funny that the things grandmother picked out are the ones still in style.”  Bethany teases, and then giggles at the look her mother gives her.

You have to stifle a laugh yourself, but Leandra finally shakes her head and smiles.

“She had a good eye, but when you’re young, you just want to fit in.  No matter how ridiculous it looks in retrospect.”  Leandra agrees with a sigh, pulling down a dress at last, “Here we go.  Why don’t you step around the corner and try this one on?  I’ll find another one.”

Maybe this is a bit more in-depth than you were expecting…

But still, you want the dress to be right, and you don’t want to be rude when she’s lending you one.  Maybe you can eke out a little extra time?

* * *

 

**Let’s try it on, and text Sera quick and beg for an extra half hour.**

You send a quick, pleading text to Sera, making sure she knows exactly why you are.  She might think your insistence on finding the ‘right’ dress is silly, but she wants to go so badly that you don’t think she’s going to kick up a fuss.  You’re still the keeper of the keys, after all.

It takes a minute for her to respond, as you pull the dress on over your pants, leaving your shirt and phone on a chair.  The floor-length dress is very pretty, clean lines and very tasteful.  You can see what they were talking about, it’s very ‘classic’.  A bit Grace Kelly.

It’s gorgeous, really, and it fits you pretty well, but it’s also very simple.

You check your phone once you manage to do up the back partway.  Sera sent a simple ‘I guess.’ which is probably the best you’ll get.  You’ll have to make up for it somehow.

You put your phone back down, and then step out when Bethany calls after you.  She gives a little gasp, and claps her hands.  Leandra just eyes you critically, lips thoughtfully pursed.

“You look so pretty!” Bethany exclaims.

* * *

 

**It’s really nice.  I just worry maybe it’s a bit too simple?**

“But it does fit you.”  Leandra replies, the measuring look in her eyes still there, “Which is the more important thing.”

“It’s not as if you could get it tailored.”  Bethany agrees, and then gives a little sigh, “Which is what mother tells me every time I want to take the sleeves off of that green dress.”

“I don’t mind lending them, darling, but if you want to alter them, you can wait until I’ve handed them down properly.”  Leandra replies, sounding fondly amused, “I’ll give in sooner or later.”

“Until then, I’ll just have to plot.”  Bethany says, and then brightens, turning to gaze into the closet again, “What about the one with the layered skirt, mother dear?”

“The tulle?  With the embroidered bodice?  Yes, that could work…”  Leandra agrees, turning back to the closet and sorting through the dresses again, finally pulling another garment bag down.

This one is a bit more full.  You assume the skirt’s a bit bigger than the one you’re wearing.

“Please do try to hang up the dress neatly when you take it off, won’t you?”  She asks you, draping the new bag over your arms as you obediently extend them.

“I’ll be very careful.”  You promise.

Ducking back around the corner again, you undo the dress you’re wearing and carefully put it away.  The new one comes out and it’s…definitely less simple than the one before.  A full skirt, and plenty of embellishments on the bodice, both parts of the dress the same color.  It’s pretty, and more decorated, but definitely not an ‘everyone in the room is going to stare’ dress.

You try it on.

* * *

 

**I don’t know.  What do you guys think?**

You step out, and do a little turn when Leandra gestures.  The skirt is fun, you have to admit, even with your pants in the way you can feel the weight of it, the way it twists around you when you turn.

You’re not going to be able to run in it, but it certainly is a party dress.

“I think you look beautiful.”  Bethany says, and then adds almost apologetically, “I think that style suits you!  But maybe not in that color.  Mother?”

“I agree entirely, Bethany.”  Leandra says, turning back to the closet, “But I know exactly what dress you need, now.”

“All…right?”  You say uncertainly, reaching back to undo the dress.  “Are you sure?”

“Certain.”  Leandra says briskly, “Completely certain.”

Well, you can’t argue with that.

Holding the front of the dress up loosely, you take the heavy garment bag from her in the other.  Time is running low, you really do have to be going.  But…do you really just want to take the dress and go?

* * *

 

**Don’t be dumb, try it on.  If this is the dress, you’ll know once you’ve tried it.**

 

You’re determined to get this right.  So far you’ve been pretty stubborn about finding the right thing, and that doesn’t look to be changing.

You step back around and carefully slip out of the second dress, putting it away before unzipping the third.  This one is a little bit less…floofy than the second one.  Less Grace Kelly, more Elizabeth Taylor, but still both Edith Head.  So to speak.

It is beautiful, more concerned with style and design than extra embellishments. 

Like the others, it fits you fairly well, though the skirt’s long enough you’ll probably have to wear some decently high heels to keep from stepping on the hem.  Shoes!

That’s something else you’re going to need.  Mental list.

You have some trouble with the back, still trying to fasten it up as you step out.  Bethany quickly ducks around you and handles it for you, the top fitting you snugly, though your pants make it bunch up oddly at the waist.

“This color is much better.”  Bethany says approvingly, “I really do like it, but I’ve liked all of them, I suppose.  What matters is that you like it.”

* * *

 

**I think it’s just perfect.  I’m glad I listened to you both!**

 

You think this is it.

Hard to really ‘feel’ the dress without the shoes and heavy duty underwear and all of that, but it fits well, it’s the right color, and it’s gorgeous.  You feel lucky to have found it, because you’re _really_ out of time.

With profuse thanks, you get back out of the dress and into your own clothes, taking care with it.  Leandra gives you some instructions, rather stern ones at that, but it’s her dress, so you’d better follow them to the letter.

No cleaning it, you need special deodorant, keep it hung up but not by the shoulders, if you spill anything on it just dab it up as best you can, but don’t rub or…well, it’s complicated.  You’re going to have to be extra careful.

But you’re only going to this to do recon, right?  Nothing more…exciting.

Not that it isn’t exciting.

The party’s still going, but sadly, you need to leave.  You say your hasty goodbyes to the house full of people, carefully tuck the dress into your trunk where it won’t be seen while you’re working, and head back on over to the mall.

 

Sera’s a little annoyed with you when you get in, but not too badly.  She makes you promise to pick up a shift for her some time.  Not exactly a fair swap, but she pulled your butt out of the fire when you needed her to.

She doesn’t stay to chat, even though you have a lot to talk about.  The trip’s less than a week away.  It’s just all so strange and clandestine…and you really don’t feel comfortable talking about it in public, or telling people about it.  Not even Bethany.

You did trust Dorian with it, but he helped you out.  It really is a shame he doesn’t want to go, but you understand.  

Still, you have a ticket left, and you need to figure out who to ask.  Soon.

* * *

 

**We should ask Sera.  We’re bringing Solas after all, it’s only fair.**

You don’t have time to text Sera until your break.  Work’s busy tonight.  When you duck into the back to hide and get your breath back, you send her a message.  By the time you have to head back out, she messages you back, and says she’ll come over tomorrow to talk it over.

There isn’t much time, but luckily, not a lot of preparation to be done when you don’t know what the heck’s going to happen.  You can only run over ‘what ifs’ in your head so many times before you have to admit you don’t know what you’re doing.  Halamshiral and Fen’harel are both big unknowns.

You’re studying to be a librarian, not a spy.

Solas will be there, at least, and he’s level-headed.  Plus you know he used to get into a lot of trouble, even if he doesn’t like talking about it too much.  He obviously managed to get back _out_ of trouble again, which is promising.

The rest of your evening at work is even busier than the beginning, but with the less pleasant sort of people that you’re more accustomed to than holiday shoppers.  The best you can usually hope for with the ‘regulars’ is that they don’t try to make too much conversation.

By the time eight rolls around, you’re ready to get out of there.

Considering the dress in your trunk, you drive across the street instead of walking, and re-park near the mall.  You did tell Solas you’d stop over, but you weren’t expecting to feel so worn out.  It’s been a long day.  A shower would be really nice right now.

And the mall is _still_ full of holiday shoppers.

* * *

 

**We said we’d come by, so let’s just go over there.  Hugs will ward off the tired.**

Parking as close as you can, you start your trudge across the lot.  It’s cold tonight, sharp-cold, but the sky is clear.  You’re lucky you haven’t gotten sick yet, with the changing of the seasons, and hopefully it’ll hold out for a while.

The protesters are still over by the Valmont entrance, but there’s less every day.  It’s obviously starting to lose steam.  It draws your mind back again to next weekend.  What could they possibly do that will really get people to pay attention?  To make things change?  And what cause exactly are they wanting to draw eyes to?

Or do they just want the attention, and don’t actually care about anything else?

Well, you’ll find out.  And you’ll make sure the truth is at least out there, even if no one pays attention or cares.  You have a feeling Sera will make sure someone does, though.

The warmth and noise hits you like a blanket to the face when you come inside.  You’re tired enough that the earworm holiday music is more annoying than enjoyable, but at least the decorations are still pretty.

You try to focus on those, instead of the overwhelming crowd of people moving past you, often jostling you as you try to slip into the flow.

Your trek takes you past the gallery, then a jewelry shop before the fountain.  Are you going to need to accessorize?  Now that you have the dress, you can worry about things like that.

Your tired mind is full of questions, it seems.  

 

Antediluvia has, as always, comfortingly low lights, welcome after the glare of the broad mall corridor.  You’re really coming to enjoy Solas’ shop, with its weird mishmash of artifacts and books.  Your tired eyes adjust slowly as you turn in.  Cole’s nowhere to be seen, but Solas did say he was alone tonight.

He’s behind the counter, writing away in what looks like a ledger.  As you approach, he glances up, and his flat expression of concentration relaxes into a small, but genuine smile.

* * *

 

**_Say nothing, just flop dramatically onto the counter._ **

 

You plant your cheek on the counter and heave a long sigh, arms splaying out across it.  It’s cool against your cheek, which is still flushed from the outside to hot stuffy crowded transition.

There’s silence for a couple of seconds, and then Solas chuckles quietly, his pen clicking against the polished counter as he sets it aside.  His hand settles on the back of your neck, and starts massaging slowly.  He’s…actually really good at that.

“You can keep doing that forever.”  You suggest hopefully, and then smile when he chuckles again, “Hi.”

“Good evening.”  He greets you, long fingers still obediently massaging, “Are you all right?”

“Long day, I’ll be fine after a shower and some down time.”  You promise, and then ask, “How was your day?”

“Surprisingly busy, though things have been somewhat quieter for the last hour.  I am somewhat tired myself, I will be grateful when the holiday has passed.”

“Good thing we didn’t plan another late-night date.”  You say, finally opening your eyes again and glancing up at him.

“And here I thought we were going to break into the rare books section of the downtown library tonight.”  Solas replies, withdrawing his hand after a small caress of your cheek with his knuckles.

* * *

 

**Next time.  I’m not up for more than a movie on the couch, if you want to come over.**

“Hmmh.  Tomorrow is…”

“Sunday.”  You finish for him, and then smile at the faint ‘ah’, “Losing track of the days?”

“Only momentarily.  I would like to say yes, but I need to preface my acceptance by pointing out that I won’t be terribly energetic…though I may not be alone in that.”  Solas teases you, meeting your smile with one of his own.

“Yeah, I’m not exactly bouncing off the walls tonight.”  You agree, pushing yourself up quickly as someone enters the store, “Oops, better behave.”  

“I do own the store.”  Solas points out, and then chuckles faintly, “But you are likely correct.  Were you planning to keep me company for a while?”

“You are my social calendar for the evening.”  You tell him, and are graced with a deeper smile in response, “Though I might have to find a spot out of the way…hmm, that seat behind the counter looks pretty unoccupied.”

For a couple seconds, Solas frowns at you, but you can tell it’s just for show.  Finally he sighs, and gestures to the chair, “I suppose I can afford to be generous.”

Grinning to yourself, you duck around the counter, throwing yourself into the old leather armchair.  It’s practically a twin of the one in back- you suppose he has his preferences.  Luckily, that means it’s comfortable.

And big.

“Give me a moment, won’t you?  There’s a book that came in the day before yesterday that I wanted to show you, but I need to help this person out of my store.”  

“You mean help them find something.”  You reply to him impishly.

“If that makes them leave faster, yes.”  He replies, stepping around the counter while you laugh, fighting back his own smile.

He’s not gone for long, it seems the customer is just browsing.  Apparently watching them shop and being overly solicitous is enough to chase them out.  Solas is polite about it, but you know chasing them out was probably his plan.

You’re starting to suspect that’s half of the reason he starts lecturing people about the things in the store.  Which probably means he was trying to chase _you_ out the first time you met him.

That’s actually pretty funny.

* * *

 

**I wonder what it says about me that I was nosy enough to counter your anti-shopper tactics.**

“That is an excellent question.”  Solas says, searching through one of the bookshelves, “I would imagine it says a great many things about your…qualities.  Your obstinacy, for one.”

“Obstinacy!”  You laugh, “Excuse me?”

“Yes, indeed.  And then, of course, there is the endless curiosity.”  He replies smoothly, tipping a book out of the row and tugging it out.

“Well, I guess that’s a little less insulting.”

“It was a compliment, so I am relieved to hear it.”  Solas says, a hint of sly humor in his voice, “And of course, your considerable charm and intelligence.  But those hardly need mentioning.”

“Oh, I don’t know…”  You say, hiding your fluster with a slow smile as he approaches the counter, “I sort of like hearing them be mentioned.”

His eyes meet yours as he leans over the counter and offers the book to you.  You take the heavy book in both hands, the textured, rough old cloth cover a familiar feeling under your fingertips.  You’re not really focused on the book, though, but the rather intensely warm look in his eyes.

“You are…beautiful.”  He tells you simply, practically breathing the word, voice low and passionate.

“What does that have to do with trying to scare me out of your store?”  You ask,  voice hushed as your cheeks warm.

“Absolutely nothing.”  Solas says, holding your gaze.

* * *

 

**_Oh, you know he’s getting kissed for that one._ **

 

You slide back to your feet without a word, setting the book down on the counter as you lean over it.  Solas is waiting for you, fingers cradling the curve of your jaw as you lean up to meet him.  

Fierce but sweet, the kiss is quick and passionate, his mouth relaxing as yours demands.  Nose bumping against the side of his, you break the kiss just enough for him to breathe out a soundless laugh against your lower lip.  

He sounds almost flustered, which makes you smile languidly.

“You are…far too dangerous.”  He accuses, and then clears his throat.

“You started it.”  You reply, and then glance down as his fingers trail down your cheek to fall to your hand on the book.

You let him draw it out from under your palms, making you straighten up.  He’s still intimately close, but things aren’t quite so intense now.

“Considering our…impending trip, and the discussion you had before, I thought you might enjoy this book about the history of Satinalia.  A unique perspective.”  He explains, relinquishing it to your hands again, but tucking his around them, “It is a bit old and outdated, but it discusses the Elvhen connections at length.”

“And it’s old and smells good, and feels nice to hold.”  You quip, with a faint smile, “Which makes it far superior to a wikipedia article.”

“I’ve always felt the same.”  He agrees quietly, and then reaches up to stroke a thumb from your temple to tuck it behind an ear, “I have some things to finish.”

* * *

 

 

**I have a book!  I’ll be just fine.**

 

He smiles at you, but not for the first time, there’s an odd sense of melancholy, distance about it.  It reminds you of your night at the planetarium for some reason.   You hold his stare until the wistfully distant smile warms, and he caresses your cheek one last time before turning away.

He doesn’t say anything.

After a minute, you pick up the book and curl back into the big chair.  It creaks when you settle into it, a comfortingly solid sound.  It’s wide enough that you could tuck up your legs if you wanted, settling into the cup of it, head cradled by the curve of the back.

The book is interesting, and absorbing enough that the time passes easily.  A few people come in, but no one bothers you, Solas seems skilled at intercepting them.  

Time passes, with a few small interruptions for a greeting caress or a brief, lightly affectionate kiss, but your mind is mostly absorbed with what you’re reading.

Until your phone vibrates gently in your pocket, and drawing it out your realize it’s about ten to ten.  Time for things to close up.

Solas is nowhere to be seen.

 

As you drag yourself out of your reading, you realize you can hear a muffled voice coming from your right.  Behind the heavy door that leads to the back room, it must be.

Despite the distance, you realize it sounds…angry.

* * *

 

**Let’s go knock.**

Tucking the book you’ve been reading in against the arm of the couch, you rise to your feet.  It’s odd to hear Solas with his voice raised- you know it’s him, even if you can’t make out what he’s saying.

Reaching the back room door, you rap on it firmly with your knuckles, and the argument dies abruptly.

You only have to wait maybe twenty seconds before the door opens, and Solas is staring down at you.  He looks calm.  Almost deceptively so, considering the recently-raised voices.

“Hey…”  You say, curiously, “Is everything okay?”

“I apologize.  An…issue with one of my suppliers.” He assures you, reaching a hand down instantly to caress the edge of your jaw.

“I haven’t heard you get that upset before.”  You say, only half joking, leaning into his touch, “You’re all right?”

“I will be.”  He promises you firmly.

Before you have a chance to answer, he steps around you, moving for the counter.  You turn to face him, feeling just a little off balance still.

“Have you eaten dinner?”  He asks you.

* * *

 

**I bet you haven’t.  Are you going to let me make you something?**

 

“Are you offering to cook for me?”  Solas asks you with surprise, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’m really not up for going out, I don’t want you to go hungry, and I enjoy cooking, so yes, I guess I am.”  You say, grinning a bit at the uncertain look he’s giving you, “You can go to the grocery store and pick out what you want me to cook, you know.  It’s not like I’m going to throw a cream of mushroom soup on canned green beans and serve it to you.”

“Well, if you were planning to kill my appetite…”  Solas says dubiously, and then smiles faintly when you laugh, looking less tense now, “You’ve made it all sound so logical, how could I possibly argue?”

“Since we’re in separate cars, it seemed sensible.  I have all the basics at home, so you don’t have to worry about that part.” 

“Consider me thoroughly convinced.  All right.”  Solas agrees, and then glances towards the entrance as someone wanders in, “Excuse me, we are closing.”

As he steps away to deal with it, you move to the counter yourself, to gather up your things.

* * *

 

**We should say goodbye and duck out now.  He knows where we live, and a quick clean-up of the apartment is in order.**

Once Solas has yet again prevented someone from trying to buy something from him, you get a kiss, make sure he remembers your address, and then head out to the parking lot.

The mall is a bit less of a crush this time, though still crowded enough.  You see Cullen briefly, but he looks far too busy for even a hello, let alone a chat.  Probably for the best.

It’s frigid outside tonight, everything frosting over and sparkling in the vibrantly bright lot lights.  It’s pretty, but sadly, also means you’re sniffling before you make it to your car.  Hopefully you won’t end up sick.

Your car’s where you left it, no worse for the wear, no new dings or dents from holiday shoppers in a hurry to buy…

You stop, when you realize something’s been tucked under your windshield wiper.  Not uncommon in a mall parking lot, usually just an advertisement or one of those silly Andrastian religious tracts.  Neither of those things would make you pause, but what’s waiting for you does.

 

It’s a rose.  

A red one, petals dusted with frost, glittering in the light.  There’s a note tied to it.

 

Which might be sweet and not creepy if you weren’t all fed up with surprise notes, _and_ if it was from the gentleman you were seeing.  Which it obviously isn’t.

Solas has been with you all evening.

 

Felassan’s sense of humor is not very funny any more.

* * *

 

**You said you were all in, right?  Maybe it’s some info you need, even if the delivery method is creepy and weird.  Read it.**

You’re not really impressed.  Not scared, not nervous, but also not in the least bit impressed.  Leaning over the hood of your car, you pull the rose’s stem out from under your windshield wiper.  

The note is in a small envelope with a hole punched in it for the ribbon, about the size floral cards usually are.  It’s not a card inside, though, but a small folded piece of paper.  You tug it out with two fingers, and unfold it, sniffling absently.

 

_Here I thought you liked me.  I would really, really take it as a personal favor to me if you uninvited the old man._

_He’s no fun at all._

_Trust me, I’ve tried to get him to let go, but it doesn’t work.  Ditch him while you still can.  My friend doesn’t care, but they don’t know him like I do._

_You don’t know him like I do._

_I’ll be in touch with one of you on Friday, I’m heading out of town.  Got some things to set up._

_xoxo,_

_Your Loving Husband_

 

You read it over twice, still unimpressed.  He’s really good at being vaguely threatening, isn’t he?  There’s a few conclusions to be drawn here, at the moment.  One, Felassan seems to be somewhat scared of Solas, which you noticed the first time you met him.

Two, he seems to be trying to get you to be mistrustful of Solas.  Weird, but maybe that’s just to make you doubt enough not to bring him.  Who even knows at this point?

And thirdly, he’s really running that stupid ‘husband’ joke into the ground.

“Learn when to stop.”  You sigh, unlocking your car door and pulling it open.

Whee.  Machinations.  You’re too tired for this shit.

Rose and note go into the passenger’s seat, and then you start driving home.  You need to do some picking up before Solas gets there.  Nothing too dire, but a few dishes to be washed, and the cats should be fed and cleaned up after.

There’s a trash can in the lobby of your apartment building.  Perfect place to dispose of annoying messages.

* * *

 

**We’re keeping both.**

You decide to save the dramatic gestures, and opt not to destroy evidence.  You keep both note and pretty flower.  It’s looking a little sad after its mild freezing, but hopefully it can perk up a little.  Also hopefully, it won’t get eaten by a cat.

The flowers Solas got you had to be monitored, lest they be attacked.

Speaking of tiny terrors, they are loud and excited when you get home after a long day out.  A day of nothing but inferior crunchies is a very sad day.  The first order of business is, of course, to get them their wet food.

There is no time for petting or cuddling on an empty stomach.

You feed them, change their water, and then start worrying about cleaning up before Solas gets in.  The rose goes in a tall cup until you find something better, stem trimmed, and then you start picking up the apartment.

It doesn’t take too long, you’ve been pretty diligent about keeping up with things.  Still, even if the cleaning was unnecessary, you feel better for having done it.  The last thing you do is hang up the precious dress in your closet, and then you check the time.

He’ll probably be here soon, unless he’s the kind of guy that takes forever at the grocery store.

* * *

 

**Yeah, changing, but come on.  We need something less ‘fuck it’ and more ‘fuck me’.**

You decide to forego some comfort to look a little nicer, but since you’re not going out, there’s no need to overdo it.  Just getting changed helps you perk up a little, something about getting out of the day’s work clothes does that.

You’re not going to throw on a negligee or anything that try-hard, but a bit of cleavage (and the Good Bra and matching panties) never hurt anyone, right?  

There’s time to brush out your hair and wash your face to try and push back a little more sleepiness when you get buzzed.  The building’s old enough that you have to go down and let him in, so you toss on some slip-ons and head down.

Fen tries to come with you, but you scoot him back into the apartment.

The stairwell is a little dark and creaky, but the downstairs lobby is still brightly lit.  Solas is standing outside the door with a bag tucked into his arm, gazing up the street.  When you approach, he glances at you, and lifts his free hand.  You repeat the gesture, and then move to get the door for him.  

When you open it, the sudden blast of outside cold makes you shiver, and you quickly step back and out of the way before greetings even start.

“In, in!”  You demand, and Solas chuckles, slipping through the door.

“Hello to you as well.”  He replies, glancing around as you let the door swing closed, keys rattling.  “I do like this building.  I can’t recall if I’ve ever known anyone who lived here.”

“No?”  You ask, leading the way up the stairs, “I like it, too, even though I wish they’d done a better job looking over the place before I moved in.  I’ve had to replace door knobs and fix linoleum.”

“You are a very capable woman.  I enjoy that about you.”  He says, comfortably casual, “That can be a common problem with these older places.”

“Thank you…and yeah, I’m sure it’s a constant game of something or another falling apart.”  You agree, smiling at the compliment.

You sort through your keys as you come up on the landing, hustling ahead to get the door unlocked.  As you expected, the instant you open the door, Fen comes rocketing out, but you’re ready.

With a squeak of complaint, he gets scooped up and tucked against your shoulder.  His whining immediately turns to purring, and he digs his claws into your skin.

“He does that a lot.  Naughty Fen.”  You inform Solas, who is chuckling.

When you speak, though, the laughter stops.  He still follows you into the apartment, but when you glance over, Solas is eyeing you.

“You named your cat Fen?”  He asks you.

* * *

 

 

**Nope, I named him Fen’harel.**

“You named your cat Fen’harel.”  Solas repeats blankly, as you close and lock the apartment door behind him.

For some reason, you find his confusion amusing, not worrying.  You release the kitten as he squirms, and he climbs up to perch on your shoulder, staring at Solas curiously.

“I did.  He’s a troublemaker.  His sister is Atisha, she’s around here somewhere.”  You say, offering your arms out for the grocery bag.

You have to wait for a couple seconds, but finally Solas blinks, shakes his head, and lets you take the bag from him.  Fen jumps off of your shoulder to the kitchen counter, and then onto the floor.

“i would point out that naming a cat the Dread…Wolf is a bit of a misnomer, but I assume you know that, and don’t care.”  He finally says.

“Got it in one!”  You agree, curiously opening the bag and setting it on the counter.  “So, what are we having for dinner?”

“I know that you offered to cook, but you have had a long day.  I picked up some cured meats and cheese, and some good bread.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, thank you.  You’re probably right, anything too involved and we’d be starving anyways.”  You say, picking things out of the bag, “Oh, and wine!  Thank you.”

He didn’t get the cheap stuff, either.  It’s nice to have an indulgence sometimes, and fancy cheese is a pretty good one.  Especially with wine and bread to go along with.

“You’re welcome.”  Solas says, and then chuckles faintly.  “Do you have a secret admirer?”

What?  

You glance over, and realize he’s noticed the rose, which is looking a little bit sadder now.  Droopy.  Maybe it didn’t survive the frost.

* * *

 

**Just Felassan again.  He left me a note, too.  It was on my windshield.**

 

“Are you all right?”  

It’s the first thing Solas says at your casual pronouncement, but you can see he’s angry about it.  Not with you, but he certainly is upset, jaw tight, eyes hard.  Great.  Hopefully you haven’t ruined the evening.

“I’m fine.”  You say, turning to get a knife for the bread, and a large plate to put everything on, “Really.  Just fine.  More annoyed than anything else.  What do you feel like watching tonight?”

He doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, until you glance over at him curiously.  You recognize the expression on his face.  It’s the one he had earlier, at the shop, after the phone call that made him… _oh._

On the phone with a ‘supplier’, huh?  Gee, who do you know that supplies things to him?  Felassan.  It wasn’t a lie, but it sure was close enough to one to make you uncomfortable.

“That was not a very graceful attempt to change the subject.”  He tells you.

“It isn’t a topic of conversation that makes for an enjoyable evening.”  You counter, turning your attention back to the bread, “I don’t want you to be angry.  I would much rather relax.”

“I will.  Soon.”  He promises you, still tense, “Will you let me see the note?  It might help put my mind at ease.”

* * *

 

**Yes.**

**So, it was Felassan you were on the phone with earlier, wasn’t it?  Why didn’t you tell me the truth?**

Fair’s fair.  If he wants to know, then he has to realize you have the right to as well.  You set the knife down and turn to pull the note out of your purse, and Solas sighs.

“Yes.”  He admits, “Though what I told you _was_ the truth.  I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Not being honest is sort of the definition of lying.”  You counter, turning to hand him the note, “We could argue all night about the nature of truth.  I do want to respect your privacy, but can you really tell me it had nothing to do with me?”

“No.”  He says, taking the note from you, expression a bit distant, withdrawn now, “I suppose you are correct.  I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.”  You say, turning back to arranging your dinner, unwrapping the cheese.

Solas reads the note fairly quickly, and then scoffs.  It almost sounds like a laugh, sardonic though it may be.

“I always thought I knew him well.”  He says, disappointment clear.

“People change?  Or, I guess maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought.”  You say, and then suggest, “Wine?”

“I believe that would be a good idea.”  He agrees, reaching for the bottle, “You’re not upset?”

* * *

 

**As long as you don’t make a habit of turning the truth into a game of three card monte, we’re fine.**

You don’t quite get the laugh you were hoping for.  He just smiles faintly, nods, and then asks you where the corkscrew is.  Solas seems a little distant.

It’s actually a little worrying, but you’re pretty occupied with getting things set up.

The distance is all mental, though, once you both finally settle on the couch with your charcuterie dinner and a movie (something suitably intellectual but still light enough to be entertaining and not mentally taxing) he seems quite happy to have you tucked in against his side.

Like earlier at the shop, you’re subjected to random acts of physical affection, even if it’s just the occasional brush of fingers down your arm, or a light kiss on your head when he leans over you to get something to eat.  

You’re tired, it’s comforting, and the wine isn’t helping you be any more alert.

You never would have pegged him as being so casually affectionate, but he seems to be comfortable enough with you to let it show.  

Eventually Atisha appears and demands some of your brie, licking it from your fingers happily.  She seems perfectly content in your lap, until Solas leans over to refill your wine glass for you, and she hisses at him and poofs up, like a little calico gremlin.

Wow.  Have you ever really heard her hiss before?

At first you think she’s just been startled, but when he offers her the back of his hand to sniff, she takes a swipe at him, vicious little kitten-claws out.

_Somebody_ doesn’t like Solas.

“She’s usually the well-behaved one.”  You say, giving a small scratch behind her ears as she curls back up in your lap, keeping one eye open to suspiciously watch Solas.

“Jealousy is an ugly thing.”  Solas replies with amusement, handing your wine glass back to you.

You take it, with a smile of thanks, and then tilt your chin up as he leans down for a kiss.

The kitten gives a little squeaky, angry growl.

* * *

 

**Make them get along.  Try bribery!  There’s more brie.**

 

“Here, give me your hand.”  You demand of Solas, setting your wine aside and reaching for the cheese knife.  

Not an actual cheese knife.  It’s a butter knife, but you’re using it for the cheese.  He was nice enough not to comment on it.  Or your lack of decor, or…anything, actually.

He doesn’t seem into the cats, but he’s not bothered by them, either.  Then again, he did know they were here.  If he had a protest, he would have voiced it before.

Obediently, Solas lets you smear cheese on his finger, and then offers it to the spitty, hissy, territorial kitten.  

She growls at him.  And then…licks up the cheese, while trying to growl.  At the same time.

“I don’t know if I’m impressed, or concerned.”  You remark, giving her a pet down her back to try and tame the poofing.   

“Give her time.  You haven’t had them for long, after all.”  Solas points out, reasonably and relaxed, “They have had very exciting, short lives.”

“Things have been exciting for…all of us lately.  I don’t know how I’m going to get through Halamshiral.”  You say, glancing up from the kitten when his unoccupied hand reaches over to brush down your cheek.

“One day it will all just be stories people tell, and you will look back and wonder how they could have possibly happened.”  He tells you, with a faint smile, “You won’t have time for those thoughts when you’re in the moment.  You’ll simply live them.”

* * *

 

**Well, better to live them than to tell stories about what you could have done.**

 

“That’s very true.”  Solas agrees, glancing down as Atisha bites his finger, withdrawing it from his range, “And far better to have something to believe in, something worth striving towards.  After all, who knows what echoes we could leave behind in history?”

“You’re very philosophical tonight.”  You accuse, and then smile when he glances at you, “Is something bothering you?”

He stares into your eyes for a few seconds, and then smiles, wistfully sad, thumb drawing along your jaw as he cradles  your chin in his hand.

“I want to protect you.”  He admits quietly, “A feeling that persists despite knowing you have no need of it, and despite knowing that there is something in this…situation that is important beyond you and I.  I should ask you not to go, but I cannot, and I…”

His words trail off into silence, and he just stares at you.  Eventually he sighs, shakes his head, and starts to withdraw.

* * *

 

 

**_Just kiss him._ **

Ignoring kitten complaints, you reach for Solas as he pulls back, drawing him in again instead of letting him retreat.  He turns at your touch, leaning in as you draw him close.

Somehow, and probably to Atisha’s disgust as she hops out of your lap to escape, you end up tumbling back against the arm of the couch, pulling him with you.  The kiss is soft at first, almost hesitant on his part, but he  doesn’t seem great at self-control.

It doesn’t take long before you have him kissing you in earnest.  

It reminds you of the first time he kissed you in the dark of the planetarium, just a little desperate, a little too intense.  His hands are behaving, staying above the shoulders, but the way he kisses you is practically indecent, tongue hungry, lips starving.  You respond in kind, heartbeat thudding wildly, breath caught until you start going lightheaded.

When it breaks with a soft, wet sound, your lower lip throbs, his thumb stroking over it as you inhale sharply.

Unlike that first remembered kiss, though, he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t ask for time and space.  

He just stares into your eyes.

* * *

 

**_Kiss him again._ **

 

He might have escaped, but you lure him back in easily.  It doesn’t take much more than a kiss to the corner of his mouth, a little nip and nudge of your nose, and he’s pulled in again.

The sharp, frantic edge is still there at first, his fingers holding too tight, a drag of his teeth across your lower lip making it ache.  Eventually, though, things start to relax. 

Hard edges soften, a little tug luring him in closer, encouraging him to shift his weight off of his own knees, press his chest to yours.  The fierce kiss turns into small, more softly affectionate caresses, languidly slow.

Your neck is starting to ache a little from the odd angle, but there’s no way you’re bringing it up.

When he pulls back, you protest wordlessly this time, forcing your eyes open to peer up at him.

“It’s late.”  He murmurs down to you, so close still that you can feel his breath on your skin.

First your cheek, then your neck as he leans down and nuzzles in affectionately.

* * *

 

**So…come to bed.**

Solas goes still against you, and then gives a low, quiet chuckle, felt against your neck.  He presses a kiss to your skin, and then pulls back.  His arm rests next to your head, supporting him and enfolding you all at once, narrowing your world into a small, private space.

“It is an invitation I would be hard pressed to refuse.”  He admits, smiling slowly as you reach up and brush your knuckles down his cheek.  He turns his head, kisses your hand, and then glances back and meets your eyes again.  “To sleep?”

The question goes unanswered for a moment, as the distinct noise of cat licking draws your attention to the side.  Glancing up and over Solas’ arm, you realize the terrible kitten children have dragged the remains of a wedge of cheese to the floor and are demolishing it.

You sigh, closing your eyes, and Solas laughs, head dropping against your cheek.

“I can’t catch a break.”   You sigh, and he kisses your flushed skin.

Despite the annoyance, and the fact that you should probably separate them from their kill, the break in mood does give you a second to catch your breath.  Try to think clearly.

* * *

 

**I would love it if you’d stay, but I’m exhausted.  I just want to sleep, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather wake up next to.**

 

 

 

“I will have to leave rather early, but…I agree entirely.”  Solas says, and then leans down to steal a kiss.

It’s a brief one, though, considering the cheese bandits on the floor.  With a caress of your cheek, he sits up, offering you a hand.  You take it, realizing that somewhere in there, the movie had ended.   

You didn’t even notice.

“Okay, okay…”  You sigh, leaning down and rescuing the cheese from the cats.  They complain, but you don’t give in. 

Hopefully this won’t cause any…litterbox issues.  At least you have the day off tomorrow, in case one of them ends up with an upset stomach.

Solas helps you clean up, which is so comfortable and homey that it’s actually a little flustering.  It’s nice that he’s so relaxed in your home, and he doesn’t seem oddly out of sorts like he was earlier.  Despite that, by the time you’re done you’re fairly sure you’re not the _only_ one that’s tired.

“What time do you have to be up?”  You ask, when you’re done tucking everything into the fridge.

“Six would be wise.”  He replies, a bit regretfully, “I will have to go home before work.”

* * *

 

**I’ll set the alarm for six, then.**

 

“Are you certain?”  He asks, and then smiles deeper at your confirming nod.  “Well, thank you.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t go back to bed after you leave.”  You tease him with a smile.  “Let me just show you the bedroom, and I’ll just…go get changed in the bathroom and get ready for bed?”

Okay, maybe you’re a wee bit nervous.  Little bit of butterflies, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it?  Not that it ever seems to stop you.  

“Do the cats share your bed?”  He asks, following after you, voice relaxed.

“Oh…yeah, they actually do.”  You say, glancing over your shoulder as you push your way into the bedroom, glad you did the quick clean-up.  “I can try and close them out?  Atisha might cry, though.  She does that a lot.”

“Hmmh.  She complains until she gets her way, is apparently territorial of you…”  Solas says, amused, “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“No, what?”  You ask, moving to the dresser to grab something to change into.

Not that you’re too shy to undress in front of him, but _sleep_ is what’s on the agenda tonight.  Just sleep.  Better not to push it.

“You’re spoiling them.” 

He has a point there.

“Probably!”  You admit, flashing him a quick smile and then going back to fishing out a shirt, “They’ve had a rough start to life, though.  I’ll go get changed.  Meet you in bed?”

“I will meet you in bed.”  He agrees.

Pajamas in hand, you head back out again for the bathroom.

* * *

 

 

_Not so fast!  It would be a shame not to peek a little, right?_

**Yeah, no.  Go get ready for bed.**

 

It was just a passing little naughty thought, really.  You don’t want to be disrespectful.  The cats follow you to the bathroom, Fen still hopefully begging for more cheese.  You may have created a monster there.

You wash your face, brush your teeth, and change quickly.  

You don’t have an extra toothbrush, and you hope it doesn’t bother him.  Maybe you should go to the corner store and pick one up tomorrow.  The idea is sort of a pleasing one, even if you feel like it might be a bit premature.

But, well…it’s nice having him here.

Besides, it’s an extra toothbrush.  It could be for anyone, really, just a sensible thing to have on hand.  Right?

Right.

When you return, Solas is already in bed.  His shirt and pants are neatly folded on top of your dresser…you’re not long on other furniture.  You should probably offer him the shower, at least, but he looks pretty damn tired, and so are you.  

Instead, you crawl into bed, set the alarm on your phone, and then settle in.  A slow goodnight kiss turns into a tangled cuddle, and you’re too sleepy to wake up the butterflies in your stomach. You just enjoy it.

You’re so comfortable that not even Atisha’s protesting the horrible man in her bed manages to keep you from a well-earned sleep.

**Good night.**

##  **END OF DAY 12**

 


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